


Lester's Happily Ever After

by Robot Zombie Pineapples (CyborgWithGreatHair)



Category: Stephanie Plum - Janet Evanovich
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Family Drama, Family Fluff, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 88,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28749252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyborgWithGreatHair/pseuds/Robot%20Zombie%20Pineapples
Summary: Delving into the sordid details of his past, Lester embarks on the unenviable task of telling his 5 year old daughter the story of how he met her mother (a decidedly un-PG tale) in a child friendly manner. Take an intimate look at the man behind the ladies, and how one night changed his world forever. Now, years later, can he finally find that elusive Happily Ever After?
Relationships: Lester Santos/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. Prologue

** Prologue **

If you’d asked me right then, I wouldn’t have been able to explain exactly how I’d gotten to that point. Sitting at the table in the kitchen of my modest town house, hot gluing diamantes onto a leotard while using the text to speech feature on my iPad to go over files for the latest FTA we’d been issued. I couldn’t quite remember all the details. But no matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t bring myself to make it important. Did it really matter what events transpired if the result was that I was happy?

No. It didn’t.

What really mattered was that I get this leotard done in time for Saturday’s dance recital.

Oh, and that I dragged myself up to date on this new Mr. Rebel-Without-A-Cause. Pretty sure Ranger wouldn’t be too happy with me if I let game drop off any more than it already had. My life had changed a lot recently. I’d taken more time off and rearranged my work schedule to work around the little bumps in the road that had suddenly sprung up. But things were finally starting to get back on track.

I hoped.

“Daddy?” came a voice from down the hall. _There was one of the road bumps now_.

“Yes, sweet pea?” I replied, managing to not shoot hot glue all over the iPad as I hit pause on the screen – _score one to Lester_.

“I’m ready for bed!”

I set the leotard aside and unplugged the hot glue gun, making my way down the hall to my daughter’s bedroom. When I arrived she was sitting cross-legged on top of the covers, her wavy blonde hair hang in its customary tangles around her shoulders. She wore pink pyjamas with her purple dress up tutu, the same outfit as her teddy, which was already tucked into bed in her place. God bless Ella for sewing teddy bear clothes to match the majority of her wardrobe.

“What are we reading tonight?” I asked, squatting down in front of her book case. I’d found early on, that my little girl loved to be read to, so I made a point of reading to her at least once a day. It was our night ritual as much as I could possibly manage with my work schedule. “Peppa Pig?” I suggested, glancing over and noticing the smear of chocolate pudding still decorating her chin from dessert.

She screwed up her nose, a reaction I’d anticipated. Last month she had decided she was too old for Peppa Pig, so we’d been discussing what to do with all the related items she owned. Currently it was all in a box in the hall, where I tripped on it every morning without fail.

“How about Cinderella then?” I asked.

Again, she didn’t seem all that enthused.

I flopped down into a cross legged position on the floor, thinking I was in for another long, indecisive exercise of listing every book in the shelf before she decided that she wanted to read one of the first stories I’d suggested. “What are we gonna read, muffin-head?” I questioned, giving her the look I told her was the one I used on the ‘bad men’, but was really just manufactured to make her giggle. Which she did now. I started listing the books from top to bottom, waiting for her to stop me. The next thing I knew, she’d pulled Teddy out of bed and was crossing the toy pocked floor to climb into my lap.

“Daddy,” she said quietly. Almost timidly, reaching up to touch my cheek. “Teddy wants to hear about how you met Mommy.”

It was only from years of arduous training that I managed not to blanch at her question. She was only five. I thought I had at least another couple of years before she’d sprout of questions like this! I thought I had more time to formulate a believable lie.

To buy myself some time, I bent my head and licked the chocolate pudding off her chin, resulting in a torrent of giggles, which I used as a springboard to distract her further with a tickle attack. Probably, it wasn’t the best idea to rile her up like this before bed, but I needed time to think, to plan, to get my ducks all in a row. Ideally, I would have liked to discuss the dilemma with someone who would know instinctively how to handle such a conversation with tact – my mother, Ella, hell, even Steph had a knack for spinning just the right amount of truth into a lie to make it believable when it counted – but I couldn’t blow my daughter off right now to go make a phone call. I had to deal with it by myself.

After a long moment, her giggles turned to pleads of mercy, asking me to stop, holding up her hands. So I relented, picking her up and dumping her onto the bed instead. Hoping against all odds that she had forgotten her question. “Shall we read Cat in the Hat, then?” I asked, retrieving it from the top of the bookshelf as she scooted under the covers.

“Tell me about Mommy,” she implored, sending me the most devastating puppy dog eyes I’d ever seen. I swear, she was even whimpering. Steph has clearly been schooling her in the ways of manipulation again.

A heavy sigh fell from my lips and I lowered myself down onto the pillow beside her, lifting my arm to allow her to snuggle into my chest. “Once upon a time, there was a very headstrong woman,” I began.


	2. Chapter 1

** Chapter 1 **

_ Five years earlier _

“That blonde in the red dress is making eyes at you,” Zip announced, leaning around Hector to elbow me in the side.

We were gathered around our usual table at our (new) usual night club. We’d had to abandon any hope of being welcomed back to the last one when a take-down we’d been running went bad and sixty percent of the electrical equipment had been damaged beyond repair. There had been a lot of finger pointing and blame naming directly after the event, but ultimately we all had to pay the price. Not only were we funding the repairs, but we were banished from the establishment for all time.

I had thought prior to the incident that having to change hunting grounds would throw me for a loop, impact my game, and decrease my success rate. What I hadn’t factored in, though, was that at a new club, there wasn’t all the regulars who already knew my MO and would sometimes warn the unsuspecting casual clubbers. It was a whole new barrel of fish to choose from. My weekends had actually been wilder since switching. It was fantastic.

But.

“I’m not in the mood for a blonde tonight,” I shot back, scanning the room.

It was a well known fact that I was a lady’s man. I made no secret of my intentions. And I refused to apologise for my actions and decisions. If anyone had a problem with my philandering ways, they could take it up with my fists on the mats. I did what I needed to do to get through the week, it wasn’t the same as other people’s ways of coping, and it was looked down on by a lot of people, but what they often didn’t realise was that I’d set myself rules. I only did casual. I didn’t do married women and if I found out they had a significant other I cut out straight away – nobody needed that drama. I didn’t do sleep overs. And unlike a few of the other men, who had a handful of women they had understandings with and would rotate through, I didn’t do repeat offenders. Anything to protect both myself and others.

That’s not to say my rules hadn’t caused me strife on occasion. A few summers ago I’d been the subject of a turf war or sorts. Two women, having each found out that the other had slept with me, had decided they needed to prove which I liked more, and by extension, whom I belonged to. To cut a long story short, the answer was no.

“How about the brunette in the red dress by the bar?” Hank suggested. He tipped his hat toward the woman in question who hadn’t so much as glanced at us since we walked in. “I caught sight of her when I went for drinks,” he added, leading me to wonder when getting me laid had turned into such a team sport. “She’s hot.”

“I’m not doing red dresses this month,” I said. That was another thing. I had cravings. Sometimes it was a blond with a nose ring, or a red head with acne. Other times it was a tall woman, short woman, curvy woman, young, old. There was no end to the variables. For six months when I was twenty-three, my craving was domineering male. Sometimes I didn’t know what I needed or wanted until I was approached.

Bobby took a pull of his beer. He was leant back in his chair, and often took no part in my selection process, but tonight he decided to add his two cents worth. “What _are_ you looking for?”

“Dunno,” I replied, draining the last of my own beer and slamming it down on the table. “Guess I’ll have to start sampling what’s on offer.”

The next few hours were a blur of women. Lips, faces, eyes, boobs, asses. I danced with them – bump and grind, slow swaying, whatever fit the music – and led them off to ‘quiet’ corner to ‘get to know each other’. By which I mean, I tested their kissability. And maybe even a little more. Nothing really took my fancy though, so at the end of the night I was prepared to go home alone, when a woman stepped out of the shadows.

It was the blonde that Zip had mentioned at the beginning of the night. The one that was making eyes at me. I didn’t generally go for the ones that sought me out – it took away the thrill of the chase – but she was hot, and the night had left me wanting. I was desperate enough to forgo one of my rules and give her a chance, just for tonight.

I let the other men go ahead on their way to their respective homes for the night. Their fun was done. Bobby paused on his way out, glancing over his shoulder. As the resident medic of Rangeman, he took his job of keeping us all safe very seriously. He was like a mother duck and we were all his ducklings. I knew from past experience that he wasn’t comfortable leaving anyone at the club alone, so I gave him the signal we’d derived from our army days to let him know that I was only staying another minute to check out a girl. He gave an almost imperceptible nod and followed the rest into the parking lot. Probably, he’d wait for me to leave before heading home himself.

Turning my full attention to the woman who was now sat at the bar, giving me a definite ‘come hither’ look, I squared my shoulders and headed over. “Are you a magician?” I asked her, turning on my fail-safe bedroom voice. “Because when I look at you everyone else disappears.” It was tacky. I was well aware of this. But it added to my charm. At least, that’s what I liked to think. Ladies love a man who can make them laugh, that’s exactly what my pickup lines were designed to do.

Right on cue, she let out a gorgeous little giggle that had my balls tightening instantly. Something told me we wouldn’t be lingering here too much longer. “If you like magic tricks,” she intoned, slipping off the stool and pressing herself up against my chest, one hand trailing down to cup the very prominent bulge in the crotch of my pants. “I can show you what else I’m good at making disappear.” Her voice was sultry, oozing over my like a warm summer night until every bone in my body seemed to soften.

With one exception, of course.

“That seems like an offer I can’t refuse,” I informed her, letting my hands trail over the plains of her body slowly before grasping her ass and pulling her more firmly against me. “I’ve always been a sucker for the magician’s assistant.”


	3. Chapter 2

** Chapter 2 **

_ Present Day _

“Once upon a time there was a headstrong woman,” I began with a sigh, choosing my words carefully as I settled my gaze on the ceiling above us.

“What’s headstrong?” Mackenzie asked, leaning up to look at me.

I shook my head. Sometimes I forgot she was only five. She was so confident and articulate. I’d met twelve year olds that were less knowledgeable than my daughter. But, of course, she was still little, and despite the grown up conversations we often had, she was still learning words and phrases and what they meant. “Headstrong,” I repeated slowly. “Means she knew what she wanted and also knew how to get it.”

“Like Auntie Steph?” she enquired sweetly, relaxing back into my shoulder. “Uncle Los-Los says she always knows what she wants, and she always gets it even when he says no.”

Caught off guard, I let a chuckle burble up through my throat and burst out my mouth. Kenzie had a way of saying the unexpected. “Yes,” I agreed. “Auntie Steph is also headstrong. But Mommy was different to Auntie Steph.”

She rolled over, always so restless. It was impossible to get her to stay still. “How?” Her elbow dug into my rib as she folded her arms under her chin so that she could watch my face as I spoke.

I’d stuck my foot in it already. What I wouldn’t give to be able to just flat out tell her all the differences between her mother and her aunt. But that was like giving her a one way ticket to Mommy Issues. More story editing was needed. More forethought, on my part. “Mummy was more…” I searched for the word I was after, scanning the familiar divots in the ceiling plaster. They didn’t hold the answers I was seeking, though. “Mommy was more…”

“Mean?” Kenzie suggested.

“What?” I started, sitting up and almost dislodging her from her position. “Honey, why would you say something like that?”

She shrugged, and crawled into my lap, pushing her hair out of her face. “Uncle Cal said Mommy was a meanie,” she explained quietly, not meeting my gaze. “He said if Mommy were nice, she wouldn’t have left me.” Her voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the emotion behind her words.

Taking her face in my palms, I gently guided her forehead to my lips, and then pulled back a bit so I could look her in the eye. “Sweetie,” I said earnestly. “Mommy didn’t leave because she was mean.”

“Did she like me?”

There are certain things you hope your child never has to ask. This was one of them. I had hoped that I had showered her with enough love and affection in the last three years that she would never doubt that she was important to me. The other guys seemed to have the same idea. They always had time for Kenzie. But there was the question, laid out so plainly. Her heart on a platter. Waiting to be crushed to a million tiny pieces with nothing more than a wrongly placed syllable.

 _Careful, Santos_ , I told myself.

“She loved you,” I assured her, solemnly. Which was the absolute truth.

Kenzie’s eyes brightened a little at that. “More than you love me, Daddy?” she enquired, perking up.

“No one could ever love you more than I do,” I assured her, hugging her tightly to my chest. She was breaking my heart. “How about I continue the story?”

“Okay,” she agreed, and quickly spun around so that she was leaning back against my chest.

“Where was I?” I asked her.

“Once upon a time there was a headstrong woman,” she recited readily.

“Right,” I nodded, twirling one of her tangled locks around my finger absently. “Once upon a time there was a headstrong woman and a devastatingly handsome man.”

“Daaaddyyyy,” she groaned, covering her face with her hands, even as she giggled. This was her typical reaction whenever I stated how attractive I am. She either didn’t believe me or she got embarrassed.

“It’s true,” I told her seriously. “No matter how much you deny it, you will always have to live with the fact that your Daddy is the best looking man in the world.” She shook her head at that, and proceeded to poke me in the side, but I continued the story. We’d gotten perilously side tracked once already, and I’d barely begun. “Once upon a time there was a beautiful headstrong woman and a devastatingly handsome man. They lived vastly different lives. He worked and lived with a group of men that were dedicated to keeping Trenton safe. She sold houses to rich people. And one night they met at a party.”

“What kind of party?”

“One with lots of music and dancing,” I told her. “The devastatingly handsome man had been dancing with a lot of women that night and he was tired. Ready to go home. But then the headstrong woman caught his eye and beckoned him over. The man told his friends to go on home without him so that he could talk to her without them all crowding around and throwing off his groove. He went over to talk to her.”

“What did he say?” Kenz asked wistfully.

_“Are you a magician? Because whenever I look at you, everyone else disappears.”_

Mackenzie gasped, thrusting her head back to look at me again. “ _WAS_ Mommy a magician?” she asked excitedly.

I laughed and shook my head, ruffling her hair. “No, Daddy was just being silly, trying to get Mommy to like him.”

“Did it work?”

I nodded. “Well enough,” I confirmed. “So, anyway, eventually the headstrong woman and the devastatingly handsome man left the party together and hung out for a while.”

Kenz was still staring up at me, utterly rapt in the story I was spinning. “What did you do?”

“Played games,” I said. Well it wasn’t technically a lie.

“What games did you play?” she insisted.

 _Shit._ _Now look what you’ve done!_ “Uh, leapfrog, I think,” I told her. “And maybe Twister.” Luckily she accepted this answer without any follow up questions – a rare occurrence, indeed – and I was free to continue uninterrupted for a while. I told her how her mother and I had spent the next twenty-four hours together. Playing. Before the headstrong woman had to dash off to her job. It was kinda Cinderella-esque the way I said it, which appealed to her sense of fantasy and kept her from asking too many more questions.

“Then what happened?” she asked.

“Um…” I thought for a bit, trying to both remember details and edit them as they came, rather than simply blurting things out. “Not much, really,” I admitted to her. “We didn’t see each other for while after that.”

“But weren’t you friends?” she insisted. “You _played_ together.”

“Sometimes things just aren’t that simple,” I reminded her. “It’s getting late and you have school tomorrow, how about I tell you the rest of the story next time?”

“But Daddy!”

“No buts,” I said sternly, slipping out from underneath her and tucking her under the covers all in one fluid movement. “Time for sleep.” I pressed a kiss to each of her eye lids and then her nose. “Good night, muffin-head.”

“Good night, Daddy,” she yawned, holding up Teddy for me to kiss as well.


	4. Chapter 3

** Chapter 3 **

_ Present Day _

“How was your day, Muffin- Head?” I asked as Kenzie approached, her backpack hitched on her back. The ponytail we’d fought about this morning ( _It’s too tight! It’s too loose! It’s too wonky! It’s too high! It’s too low!_ ) was missing from sight. Instead, someone had braided her hair down her back. I didn’t know how I felt about that. Had she protested my dodgy job and had the teacher fix it for her? Had it ended up coming out while she was playing – a common occurrence – and one of the other kids had put it back up for her? Either way, her hair was not how I’d done it this morning. Not that I could blame the kid. I was terrible at hair. The only days her hair looked any good were when Steph did it, which wasn’t often on school days unless there was some emergency. Or when the dance teacher did it, and that was only for recitals.

Kenzie shrugged her shoulders and dumped her bag off her back. “Okay,” she said as I tossed the bag in the trunk.

“Did you learn anything?” I bent down, scooping her into my arms and squeezing her tight. She hugged me back as I dropped her into her booster seat and started buckling her in.

“No.” That was a typical answer. She never told me what she learned. I didn’t know whether to be concerned that she wasn’t learning anything, or what. When I voiced my concerns to my mother she said it was a normal response that so much happened in a child’s day that they didn’t think to tell us any of it. Or the learning that occurred was during play, and they didn’t realise it. “Did you bring my juice box?” she asked, frowning.

Last week, I’d been rushed by a client meeting that ran long and had forgotten to bring her a snack to eat on the way to her dance lesson. She’d complained about it all the way there. And all the way home afterwards. It was unpleasant. An experience I did not wish to repeat any time soon. That’s why I’d had Ella put together a box of grab and go snacks that I could keep in the car for the days that I didn’t have the time or the forethought. Luckily, today was not one of those days. “It’s in the bag beside you,” I assured her, reaching across and dragging it closer so she could reach without taking her arms out of the seatbelt. “Along with a surprise.”

Her green eyes lit up in excitement and she started fumbling with the zip on her dance bag. “What is it?” she demanded.

“If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” I chuckled closing the door and making my way around the vehicle to slide in behind the wheel. By the time I had my own seat belt on and was pulling out of the pick up line, she was squealing enthusiastically. Ella had made chocolate muffins for Steph and had put some aside for Mackenzie as well. It seemed like an unhealthy piece of food, which made both girls happy, but knowing Ella there was probably zucchini or beetroot in it as well. Ella was all about the stealth health these days.

The backseat was silent as she devoured the cake. And then, without any prompting at all, she was telling me about how she’d made it across the monkey bars without any help at all today. She gave me a blow by blow of her achievement, going into excruciating detail for a five year old. I was laughing at her re-enacted victory dance in the rear view mirror when suddenly, I found myself in the middle of a traffic. I was usually pretty good at avoiding incidents that are likely to cause delays, but I’d been distracted by Kenzie’s story and hadn’t been paying attention to the traffic alerts from the on board computer.

“Looks like we’re gonna be late,” I told the cherub in in the back.

“What!?” she exclaimed, leaning forward to as far as her restraints would allow. “Daddy! We can’t be late today! Recital Day is this weekend! I have to practice!”

“I know, honey, but I can’t make the traffic move any more than I can make you eat your vegetables at dinner time,” I explained.

“I eat them sometimes,” she pointed out. “Maybe you can move the cars.”

I shook my head, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “I’m sorry sweetie.”

She pouted forlornly, and rubbed at her eye like she was about to cry. “I’m gonna be in trouble. Miss Moon doesn’t like it when we miss class,” she whispered.

“I know, Kenz. I know.” And boy did I know. One time, I’d kept her home from rehearsal because she was legitimately, genuinely sick – fever, vomiting, the works – and I’d received an angry phone call from Miss Moon the next day asking how I expected my daughter to learn and keep up with everyone else in the class if I didn’t bring her to her lessons. I gave her a piece of my mind, laced with perhaps a few thinly veiled threats, and hadn’t had the problem since, but Miss Moon was still a pretty scary person. The complete opposite of Kenzie’s gymnastics teacher, but that was irrelevant right now.

I inched the car forward a few yards and glanced at my daughter again. There was definite moisture on her cheeks. If I didn’t head it off I’d be dealing with full blown waterworks before I knew it. “I have an idea,” I informed her, pressing a few buttons on the centre console until I had a call connected to the control room.

“Rangeman LLC,” the guy announced, his voice emanating from the car speakers. “You’re on with Cal.”

“Cal, I have a problem,” I informed him.

“You are a problem,” he responded easily.

“That’s not nice!” Mackenzie shouted from the backseat.

“Hi, Mack!” Cal said.

“Say sorry to my Daddy,” she insisted.

“Sorry for being mean,” Cal droned obediently. Probably, he was grinning from ear to ear. All the guys loved Mackenzie. On the odd occasions when I had to bring her to work with me she did the rounds of the fifth floor exchanging secret handshakes and in jokes. She got on better with half the men than I did, and that was saying something. Just shows that the Santos genes are strong with this one. “So what’s the problem? Shouldn’t you be on the way to dance class?”

“We _were_ on the way to dance,” I agreed. “But there’s traffic. And we’re caught in it.”

“Okay, so what can I help you with?”

“I was wondering if you could get someone to retrieve the Kenz-meister and get her to class on time,” I requested. It was unorthodox, but I was desperate. And no one liked seeing my kid upset. Least of all me.

“I’ll see what I can do and get back to you,” he agreed.

I gave him my location before hanging up and then glanced at my little girl. “We’re doing the best we can, sweetpea,” I told her. “How about I tell you a story while we wait?” She nodded sullenly, staring out the window, but didn’t seem all that enthused by the idea. She loved dance. She hated being late. Probably, she wouldn’t be happy until she made it to the studio. “How about I tell you more about Mommy?” I suggested. This seemed to catch her interest, so I asked. “Where was I up to?”

“The handsome man didn’t see the headstrong woman for a while,” she informed me.

“Right,” I nodded, getting my bearings in the story quickly. I’d had some time to think about how I was going to spin the next section of the tale, and thought I had it down pat. “So the handsome man went back to life as normal. He worked hard at his job and played harder in his time off. He hung out with friends and went to his cousin’s wedding. Then one day he was at the party again and the headstrong woman was there as well. She came over to him and asked to speak to him.” The car in front moved forward half a yard, and I followed. “The exceedingly handsome man wasn’t sure how he felt about that.”

“Why not?” Kenzie enquired. “Didn’t he like the headstrong woman?”

I met her eyes in the mirror. “Nothing good ever comes when a woman says she wants to talk to a man,” I explained.

“What did the man do?” she asked. “What did the woman want to tell the man? Was she sorry she hadn’t seen him in a while? What had she been doing?”

I let out a small sigh. Clearly, I was not moving the story along fast enough for her liking. “If you hang on to your questions a second, I’ll tell you,” I told her, mockingly exasperated.


	5. Chapter 4

** Chapter 4 **

_ The Past _

I was mid chug, revelling in the cheers and hoots from my peers, three more and I’d break Cal’s record. Then silence fell. Or, relative silence. The bass was still thumping. There was still the noise of the surrounding club-goers. But the men around me had grown quiet. Slowly, I lowered the glass to the table, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand as I met eyes with Bobby. His right brow was cocked. I turned to my left and stifled a curse.

The blonde.

I hadn’t seen her in, like, three months.

“Lester Santos,” she said. “We need to talk.”

Just like that, the guys found their voices again. Exclaiming things my brain didn’t have time to process. I could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t looking for a repeat performance as some of the men suspected. She was serious. I gulped down the remainder of my beer and stood from the table, giving Bobby a signal that told him I didn’t need back up but requested he keep me in his sights just in case, and followed her away from the main club floor to a smaller, slightly quieter room. She didn’t bother sitting down. We stood right in the doorway, right where Bobby could still see us, and she dropped a bombshell on me.

“I’m pregnant,” she said with absolutely no preamble. I mean, couldn’t you work up to that kind of news? Ask how I was doing, mention how good my hair was looking tonight, that kind of thing? But instead, BAM, whole world turned on its side, just like that.

“Okay,” I said, straining for calm. I could deal with this. I’d been accused of this kind of thing before. It was a mistake. The girls I slept with tended to be the girls that slept with a lot of guys. It could be anyone’s baby.

“You’re the father,” she added. There was no emotion in her voice. I didn’t know what to take from that. Was she in shock? How long ago did she find out?

“How can you be sure?”

She sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, hitching up one side of her sun dress. “You’re the only one I’ve slept with in the last six months,” she told me, like I should have known that. I wanted to point out that despite the twenty four hours we spent together, I had no idea about her life. I didn’t even know her last name. Hell, her _first_ name was escaping me at that very second. “It has to be yours,” she added.

“Okay,” I said, glancing over her shoulder at Bobby, who was keeping a close eye on us, like the good wing man he was. I was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that I was in club at quarter to midnight and was definitely not sober. “This probably isn’t the kind of conversation you want to have in a club,” I pointed out, gesturing around. “Let me go tell my guys I’m leaving and I’ll meet you at the twenty-four hour café down the street.” A cup of coffee would do me good.

She gave me a look that threatened to melt the skin off my face if I didn’t turn up as promised, turned on her heels, and left. I dragged my hands down my face, a groan escaping me. How could this be happening? I was always so careful! _Always_ wear a condom. _Always_ make sure it’s my _own_ condom. Bitches be crazy. I couldn’t count the amount of ladies I’d caught attempting to impregnate themselves by offering punctured condoms for me to use. On the other hand, I’d had women claim to be pregnant when they weren’t just to attempt to reign me in.

I crossed back to the table where everyone was waiting with bated breath – except Zero and Hector, they were over on the dance floor humping each other like it was a porno film – and laid it all out there.

“How can you trust her?” Cal asked.

“He obviously can’t,” Hal said. “This chick could sleep with a new guy every night for all we know.”

“What’s the plan?” Bobby asked, pushing a bottle of water at me.

“I meet her. Discuss the matter. See what she wants to do about it. Request a paternity test,” I listed. “What else can I do? I have to treat this as the real thing. I’m man of honour.”

“Are you gonna marry her?” Tank enquired, leaning his elbows on the table to stare at me intensely.

I’d made no secret of the fact that I didn’t plan on settling down any time soon. We were always joking about the fact that I’d be the eighty year old bachelor. But this was a game changer. If this woman was really pregnant, and the kid really was mine, I’d have to examine my morals and make some hard decisions. “Look,” I sighed. “If the kid is mine, and she wants to keep it, I guess I’ll have to at least put the offer on the table.”

“God speed, brother,” Hank said, removing his cowboy hat and pressing it to his chest.

I nodded, and was about to leave, but turned back suddenly. “Does anyone remember her name?” I asked desperately.

“Santos!” they all groaned and I was forced to take it as my answer. I skulled the water on the way out the door, and grabbed another from the convenience store I walked past on my way to the café.

She was waiting for me when I arrived. Seated in the booth in the back corner, her back to the room, leaving me the seat with my back to the wall. Just the way I liked it. Maybe I’d shared more with her that night than I thought. Either that, or she just didn’t fancy looking out at the empty restaurant. I don’t know. I’m not going to pretend to have insights into the woman’s behaviour when I can’t even remember her name.

I ordered a coffee. Black. And sat down.

“I have to tell you,” I started. “I would have preferred if you’d sought me out about three hours ago. You know, before I had a blood to alcohol ratio that was leaning more toward alcohol.”

“Sorry,” she said, and I could almost believe she meant it. She was staring at the napkin twisted in her hand. “I had to work myself up to it. I never planned for this to happen, Lester.” A single tear slid down her cheek and broke my drunk heart in two. What made me feel worse? I still couldn’t remember her name. I was pretty sure it started with an F.

“Okay,” I said. “We’ll figure this out. Just, cut me some slack, yeah? I’m drunk. You can probably understand. That’s how this started.” I was attempting to make a joke, but one look at her face told me it was the wrong decision in this situation. I needed to sober up pronto and start showing her I was there for her. “What do you want to do?”

She continued to stare at the napkin as my coffee arrived. And for several long minutes afterwards. Finally, she used the napkin to wipe the tears from her face, and looked up at me. “I don’t know,” she said.

I was surprised. I’d kind of gotten the impression, during out twenty four hour rendezvous, that she knew what she liked, how to get it, and what to do to people that stood in her way. She’d totally lorded over my body that day. I’d been at her mercy. And I’d loved it. Now? A whole different story. It looked like I was going to have to take charge.

“Options first then,” I said, grabbing a couple of clean napkins and the sharpie I kept in my back pocket. “Option number one: You keep the baby.” I wrote _‘1) Keep’_ on the first napkin. “Option number two: You don’t keep the baby.” On the second napkin I wrote _‘2) Don’t’._ “That’s the basics,” I informed her. Probably it was a bit calloused, but ultimately, it was the truth. Every other decision would be based on this. “Now each of those also has options,” I continued. “If you keep the baby, we can marry, or we can not marry.” On the _Keep_ napkin I wrote _‘a) Marry’_ and _‘b) Don’t Marry’_. “If we decided not to marry there is the issue of custody,” I went on. “Of course, I’d loved to be in my child’s life, but custody will be a whole other conversation when we’ve had time to think and reflect and, in my case, sober up. And of course, lawyers would need to be involved.” Under _b) Don’t Marry_ I scribbled _‘custody’_ with an arrow pointing to the word _‘lawyer’_.

Pausing to give that time to sink in, I drank some of my coffee and studied her face. She was tense, a crease evident between her brows, her lips pursed. She sucked some water up through a straw, but said nothing, clearly waiting for me to go on.

“If you decide not to keep the baby,” I said, picking up the sharpie again, holding it poised over the second napkin. “The options are to a) terminate, or b) put the child up for adoption.” I wrote these down. “I’m not a doctor, so I can’t tell you the exact options for termination, but I do know that it’s generally not an option after twenty four weeks unless the pregnancy poses a danger to the mother. I have a friend who’s a medic, so I could get you some information if you like. No pressure, it’s just best to be informed in these situations. Leave as little to the imagination as possible. As for adoption, there’s options there too. Closed or open.” I jotted down _‘x after 24 weeks’_ under termination and _‘open/closed’_ under adoption before turning the napkins around so that the writing was the right way up for her. I didn’t need to stare at the words on the soft paper. I knew the facts. I’d made a point of knowing the options after the first fatherhood scare when I was nineteen.

While she reviewed the information, I consumed more coffee and asked the waitress for a jug of ice water and a sandwich. With the amount of liquid I’d consumed this evening I was going to need a bathroom break soon, for sure, but I didn’t know whether it would be insensitive of me to duck out now. On the one hand she might see it as some kind of abandonment. On the other, she might need that time alone to really consider her options.

This is why I don’t to relationships. Women are confusing and unpredictable.

“I…” she started. Paused. Swallowed. Flicked her eyes up to mine. Tried again. “I still don’t know, but I don’t think I could, um…” Rather than say the word, she pointed to 2a – Termination. “I’d hate myself too much.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding reassuringly. “That’s fine. You don’t have to decide tonight. And rest assured, whatever option you choose,” I waved my hand over the napkins, “or if you think up a different option, I will work with you on it. I don’t want to force you into something you don’t want. But, there is _one_ thing I do require before I get too much more involved.”

“What’s that?” she asked, sitting back in her booth.

“A paternity test,” I stated.

Her brows drew further together at that. “Don’t we have to wait until the baby is born for that?”

I shook my head. I’d thought the same thing when I was younger, but it only takes a couple of minutes of googling to figure out that is not the case. “There’s a simple, non-invasive test we can do that will show if I am the father,” I explained. “It’s cheek swabs and blood samples, I think,” I added, pulling out my phone to look up the contact details I’d saved years ago. I scribbled them down on a new napkin along with my own cell number and Bobby’s. “Here’s the contact for the place,” I told her, sliding the napkin over. “And that’s my direct number and the number of my medic friend if you need someone discreet to talk to about the medical side of things.”

She nodded her understanding and I passed her yet another napkin and the marker. As she scribbled down her number and… _YES! Her name!_ Pheobe. _Well, it starts with an ‘F’ SOUND_. I told her, “There’s not much else we can hash out tonight. Order the testing kit – or I can, whatever – and we’ll meet again to discuss it in a few days.”

Her eyes were misty when she lifted her head, holding the marker out for me. “Thank you,” she said. “You’ve been so understanding. I was expecting… well, I don’t know what I was expecting, but…”

It was my turn to nod my understanding. “I’m an honourable man,” I told her. “Womanising has been a coping method for the life I have led so far. But I am a man of morals. If this baby is mine I will make sure you and it are taken care of.”


	6. Chapter 5

** Chapter 5 **

_ Past _

I returned to the club long enough to tell the guys I was heading home – and would therefore answer their probing questions another time – and called a cab. Bobby followed me out to the parking lot to see that I made it into a yellow vehicle and didn’t attempt to drive a black one myself. Even with the sobering events of the last hour, I was extremely drunk. I was surprised I’d been able to hold such a rational conversation. But there was no way I was stupid enough to attempt to drive.

“How’d it go?” Bobby asked, slipping his arms into his jacket to ward off the cool night air.

“I dunno, man,” I shrugged, hands in my pockets. “She’s still processing. I’m _definitely_ still processing. I asked what she wanted to do about it and she had no idea.”

“You laid out the options?” Bobby guessed. I nodded, which he mirrored in a kind of affirmation of my actions. “You asked for a paternity?” Again, I bobbed my head up and down. “Good. Because if she’s anything like the last girl-.” He cut himself off with a glance at my expression. “Sorry. I guess you don’t need the reminder.”

“No,” I confirmed. “I don’t. But thanks.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you,” Bobby pointed out. “It’s my job.”

I rolled my eyes and jammed my shoulder roughly into his, which was my typical action when our conversation veered too close to feelings talk. “Your job is stitching me up when I’m wounded,” I reminded him. “Not coaching me through poor life choices.”

The cab turned into the lot and I waved my arm over my head to get it’s attention, almost missing my friend’s mumbled words. “I’d rather coach you through poor life choices than attempt to push you intestines back into your abdomen again.”

Guilt coursed through my body like the slow burn of the first shot of vodka on a cold night. We’d been through some shitty times together in the military. Bobby had removed enough bullets from my body to fill a Pringles tin; I wasn’t very good at dodging. Those, at least, were second nature to him, and thankfully they’d never hit me anywhere vital. It was when my body was introduced to the sharp end of a knife that things got dicey (no pun intended). I’d been on patrol, checking our perimeter, and had let my guard down for a split second when I spotted a child crying on the side of the dirt road. A second later – agony as my lower gut was sliced open.

Without Bobby’s quick wit and skill I’d have died within a couple of hours. But fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it – I’d lived fuck up another day.

“Sorry, man,” I said quietly, pulling him into a quick, one armed man-hug. “I forget the toll it takes on you.”

Bobby managed an eye roll and a smile as he pulled open the cab door for me. “Go sleep it off, Les,” he told me. “Before you turn into an emotional drunk.”

I climbed in and shut the door as I told the driver the address. As he pulled out of the lot, I looked back to see Bobby’s head bowed, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone screen. He finished up and tucked it back in his pocket before turning on his heels to return to the club and keep watching over his other wards.

A moment later, my phone pinged.

A text from Bobby:

_And for the record, I prefer fixing this kind of fuck up to trying to mend your broken heart._

He had a point. When I was young and naïve, my heart had grown attached to a girl I’d been seeing. Long story short: it didn’t work out and Bobby was left with a box of broken heart shards that would never quite fit into the cavity they’d been torn from.

I tried not to think about the impact my life had on Bobby’s on the ride home. I also tried to put the whole situation with Phoebe out of my head, telling myself that until it was confirmed that a) there was actually a baby involved, and b) it was indeed mine, she wasn’t my problem.

At least not until I was sober, I added as my vision momentarily blurred with a sudden head movement. I could take all the responsibility I wanted when there was more blood in my alcohol system. All I needed to do right now was gat back to my apartment, drink a bottle of Gatorade, piss, and sleep it off. No use thinking any more about it until at least noon tomorrow.

I had the cab drop me out front of Haywood and used my key fob and security code to gain access to the building via the front door – on the second try – and listened to my footsteps echoing as I crossed the spacious foyer to the elevator. I hit the button. No way was I walking up four flights of stairs after the amount I’d drunk tonight. The exercise would probably do me goo, sure, but I was in no mood to do myself good. I’d broken my number one rule: _Don’t get anyone pregnant._ And now I was paying for it.

The elevator doors sprung open a moment later and I was treated to the sight of my cousin with his hands up his wife’s dress, exposing her very attractive, very naked behind to my gaze. They disengaged hastily, though I’m sure, had it not been for the fact that the ding and Ranger’s body stiffening had alerted Steph to the doors opening and she’d glanced over her shoulder to find me staring, Ranger would have loved to simply hit the button to close the doors and carry on.

I stepped on just as the doors jerked to start closing and in a second the three of us were safely ensconced in a metal box together. Stephanie blushing furiously. Ranger just looking plain furious that I’d decided to join them. And me, either too drunk and preoccupied or too stupid to care.

Steph glanced at the watch on Ranger’s wrist and made a valiant effort to dispel the awkwardness of having been caught with her panties missing to say, “You’re back early.”

It had to be close to one in the morning, but she was right. I was early. A normal Friday night outing would have seen me returning to my apartment no earlier than seven hundred hours.

“Something came up,” I said with a shrug, leaning my back against the wall of the elevator.

Ranger pulled his cell from his belt, checked a text and returned it to it’s holster, all while reaching a hand around Steph, hitting the button for the fourth floor and then pulling the woman firmly into his side. God, sometimes they made me so jealous! Ranger had what every man wants. A woman he loved and whom loved him in return.

“You got a girl pregnant?” he asked.

And a world full of informants.

“Allegedly,” I responded. No doubt Tank had texted Ranger the moment I walked away from the table to meet Phoebe at the café.

“You talk to her about it?” he pressed.

Like Bobby, Ranger saw it as his duty to make sure I didn’t fuck up too badly. But while Bobby’s was from a mostly medical stand point, with a fair helping of long term friendship thrown in for good measure, I was almost certain Ranger’s intentions were based in self- preservation. If something happened to me, the family were bound to blame him. After all, it was his idea to join the military. His idea to start a security business. His fault – as far as our relatives were concerned – that I’d been exposed to all my trials since the age of eighteen. I mean, it’s not like I was capable of making decisions on my own, right? Of course not! Everything bad that happened to me because of my life in the military, which due to the fact that it was my coping mechanism when I returned from active duty overseas, included my womanising ways, was Ranger’s fault.

Gotta love hot-headed, Cuban maternal instinct logic.

“Of course I talked to her,” I snapped, displacing my anger at my family and myself. “I explained the options and asked for a paternity. I was as civil and sensitive as I am capable of being under the circumstances.

“Telling you while you’re drunk and expecting any kind of positive or constructive feedback is a shitty move,” Ranger agreed.

I nodded. “Luckily, the flow chart is second nature,” I said. It had been Ranger’s idea to have such a safe guard up my sleeve. He and Bobby had drilled it into me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for three months. Rain, hail or shine. Sober, drunk or high. In sickness and in health. English, Spanish, and hell, I even knew how to say the basic, bottom line information in sign language. It had saved my ass on more than one occasion in the past, but I hadn’t had to use it while intoxicated before tonight.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Steph interrupted the short silence that had fallen. She was a bit slow to catch up, leading me to believe that wine had been involved on their dinner date. “You knocked up a girl?”

“A woman,” I corrected her. Girl made it sound like she was twelve. She was definitely not twelve. “Allegedly.”

“When? Who? How-“ she realised as the single worded question exited her mouth that she had a pretty good grasp on the answer to that one so she tacked on “-did you find out?”

So I explained the situation, starting with that night and finishing with leaving the café. It wasn’t until I was finished that I realised we were still in the elevator. It was taking an awfully long time to get to the fourth floor.

“So what happens now?” Steph asked.

“I order a paternity testing kit and wait for it to arrive,” I explained, staring hard at the elevator control panel and finally locating the little blue light that indicated it had been manually stopped. I should have known.

“That’s it?” she asked. “What about the girl? What about-“

“Babe,” Ranger said, dragging her to his chest once more as he hit the button to release the lift. “Calm down. Lester has it under control. He can’t do anything until he’s certain he’s the father. One step at a time.”

Steph looked dissatisfied with this answer, but seemed to understand it was all she would get out of me or her husband at this point in time, because she said nothing more, simply biting her lip until the doors opened on the fourth floor and I’d stepped out.

“Sleep tight,” she called after me. “You’ll get through this.”


	7. Chapter 6

** Chapter 6 **

_ Present Day _

“So the head strong woman and the handsome man left the party and talked,” I said, craning my neck to try and see past the truck up ahead. IT didn’t look like there’d be any chance at escaping for at least the next hour if this kept up. I hoped Cal could pull together a rescue mission and have it here pronto. Even though I’d managed to distract her with the story, she wasn’t going to be very happy if she missed dance class. She never was.

“What did you talk about?” Kenzie enquired sweetly, slurping on what sounded like a very empty juice box.

“Whether to keep the baby or give it up,” I said honestly, without thinking. I’d caught sight of flashing lights and was trying to determine if it was from police, fire or ambulance. I didn’t even realise what I’d said until her shrill voice cried out from four feet behind me.

“You can _do_ that?” she asked, horrified.

I glanced in the rear view mirror and immediately regretted it. Her eyes were wide and shining, like she was about to cry. Her mouth was hanging agape. Why was it that she could always catch me off guard? I’d told her a lot of things I hadn’t meant to in the past while I was distracted. She just seemed to render my natural defences and brain-to-mouth barriers useless.

“Sometimes,” I told her, thinking quickly as I turned to face her fully – it’s not like I had to keep my eyes on the road with us parked here. “When the real mummy and daddy can’t look after the baby, they give it to a different mommy and daddy who _can_ look after it. It’s called adoption.”

Thankfully, this explanation seemed to have done the trick and calmed her down. She’s a smart kid, and laying out the facts works remarkably well most of the time, even when I assume she’s too young to understand. After a few seconds, she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and I now she’s thinking hard. Best if I just wait her out.

“How-“ she says eventually, looking up from the straw she’s been fiddling with. “How do you know if you can’t look after the baby if it’s still inside the mommy’s tummy?”

I stifled a groan. Unfortunately, as much as I’d love to blame it on someone else, I’m pretty sure she got her intellect and inquisitiveness from me. “It’s hard to explain, Kenz,” I told her, turning back to the traffic ahead and inching forward the small distance I’d been granted.

“But _how?_ ” she insisted.

I cast my thoughts around, thinking of the actual conversation and events that happened five years ago, seeing if I could lace some truth into it somehow, and was rewarded by a sudden jolt of inspiration. “There’s a test,” I told her.

In the rear view mirror I see my daughter scrunching up her nose. She doesn’t like tests. “Is it a hard test? She asked. “Like math?”

“It’s not hard,” I explained. “But it takes a long time.”

“How long?”

“Days.”

Kenzie groaned aloud then. If there’s one thing worse than taking a test it’s taking a test that last more than half an hour.

“Exactly,” I agreed with a bit of a smile. “So the headstrong woman and the handsome man did the test and sent in the exam to be graded. And then they had to wait for the results to come back before they knew if they were allowed to be mommy and daddy.”

At that moment I spotted Steph weaving through the cars around us until she reached the back passenger side door. Hal was right behind her. She rapped sharply at the window, prompting a high pitched squeal from Kenzie, followed by a lot of thrashing about as she attempted to free herself from her seat belt. I hit the central unlock button and Steph immediately opened the back door.

“I hear there’s a little girl that desperately needs to get to dance class,” she said, releasing said little girl from her confines. “I’m here to save the day.

“Aunty Steph!” Kenzie squealed, wrapping her arms around the woman’sneck with so much enthusiasm that I was almost worried about a strangulation risk. “Are you taking me to dance?”

Steph grinned and returned the hug with just as much enthusiasm, giving me a small thumbs up behind her back. There was a lot of mutual love there, and I couldn’t help thinking, not for the first time, that if it weren’t for Steph and Ella I probably wouldn’t have as much of a clue on how to care for a female child as I currently did. I’m not saying I’m an expert, because I am definitely not, no matter how hard you squint. But without their help I would have failed my daughter a lot more often than I have. Steph showed me how to fix hair when Phoebe wasn’t around to do it. Ella taught me the art of balancing fun with functional in the clothes shopping department. (Steph wanted to help to, but not even she trusted her judgement in the Little Miss department. She’d accompanied me once and fallen in love with the whole section, moaning about how they don’t make things like that in her size).

In short, if it wasn’t for the women in my life, my daughter would probably be dressing in the boys department and have short, more manageable hair.

“I sure am, Kenzie-Boo,” Steph confirmed. “Ready to go?”

Kenzie immediately leaped from the back seat to the ground, like the energizer bunny she was. “Don’t forget you Dance bag,” I reminded her as she did a little jig on the asphalt. “And hold Steph’s hand the entire time,” I added. We’d had a couple arguments about the hand holding thing recently. She thought she was old enough to cross the street without it. I knew she wasn’t.

“I’ve got it,” Steph assured me gently, latching on to the hand my daughter had thrust into the air. “Say goodbye to Daddy, Kenzie-Boo.”

She wrenched her hand back out of Steph’s grasp and I was about to tell her off, when she climbed back into the car long enough to kiss me on the seat. “Bye Daddy,” she said, and once again jumped out.

“I’ll meet you back at the car,” Hal said just before the door closed, then he made a motion for me to wind down the front window. “It looks pretty bad,” he informed me, nodding to the cars lined up in front of me. “A semi-trailer tipped over going round a corner and crushed a motor cycle. Blocked all lanes.”

“Jesus,” I muttered.

“Police are attempting to clear the jam by setting up detours and shit, and they’re directing the likes of you to exits up ahead, but I reckon it’ll still be a while before you’re out.”

I nodded. This was typical. The one day I don’t have the radio tuned to the traffic report, and I get stuck in the mother of all jams. “If I’m not there by the time Kenzie finishes class, take her back to Rangeman,” I instructed, and received a nod of confirmation before he hurried off in the direction the girls had just disappeared in.

*o*

By some miracle, I managed to pull into the parking lot behind Kenzie’s dance studio only two minutes after the scheduled ending time for her class. Chances were good that they girls hadn’t even made it back to the changing room yet. Miss Moon always went over, and given that the recital was mere days away, I’d say she’s probably drilling them about pointing toes or something.

Steph was in the reception area, pacing, when I stepped through the plate glass doors. She had her cranky face on, all scrunched up and mean looking. It’s the kind of face that sent me running for the hills when I first met her, because sure, she could be amusing, but she was also _extremely_ aggressive when you laughed at her in this state. As she made another pass over the small space she sent a withering glare first at the woman behind the desk, and then to the closed door that lead to the hallway to the studio and change rooms.

“Everything okay?” I asked, even thought it was pretty clear that everything was definitely _not_ okay.

“Ugh!” Steph grunted, pushing savagely at a curl that had fallen out of her pony tail. “I’m sorry, Lester.”

Those three words were the absolute last I’d expected from her mouth at that moment and despite my vast military training in the art of withstanding torture, I couldn’t quite control my reaction. My fists clenched and my heart rate ratchetted up a notch. “Is Mackenzie okay?” I asked, trying to keep the panic down. If I panicked Steph would panic and she already appeared stressed enough. “What happened?”

Steph paused in her pacing, tossed another glare at the door that should have burned straight through the wood. “Kenzie’s fine, she assured me, her shoulders slumping. “Or she will be. She’s getting changed with the rest of the girls. I… it… _that woman_ ,” she spat gesturing toward the studio door. “Should not be allowed anywhere near children. Especially not ones as dear as Kenzie.”

“What happened?” I repeated, a little calmer now, but none the wiser. If Steph was angry at Miss Moon, I could understand. Kenzie had only been enrolled here since the beginning of the year and already I’d seen the teacher say unspeakable things to her students – thankfully never Kenzie, or things would not have ended well for her. I’d been meaning to pull Kenzie from the class and find somewhere else for her to dance for a while now, but every time I decided to do it, Kenzie would burst from the changing rom three degrees more excited for her recital than she was before her lesson. It seemed cruel to deny her the experience when she’d worked so hard on it.

“She screamed at Kenzie about watching how much she drinks before class for five whole minutes when Kenzie asked to use the bathroom. She was yelling about wasting time and lack of commitment and pointed toes and I…” she sighed. “I might have lost my temper and told her Kenzie wouldn’t be returning.”

I matched her sigh and ran a hand through my spikey hair. This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Miss Moon had a tendency to hold a grudge, and with the recital only days away, I needed to smooth things over or she wouldn’t let Kenzie perform.

“I’m so sorry, Lester,” Steph repeated, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. _What the-?_ Steph has been known to cry when her emotions are running high, but not usually when she’s in the middle of being angry. It’s like someone flipped a switch and the flood gates suddenly opened up. “I just,” she sobbed wiping agitatedly at her cheeks. “She was being a bully and all Kenz wanted to do was go to the bathroom. If she’d just let her go she would have been back in a third of the time it took that bitch to berate her and I just snapped. I stormed into the studio and I dragged her out into the hall because I didn’t want the girls to have to witness any more unsavoury behaviour than they already had, and I gave her a piece of my mind and I…”

The colour drained from her face as her expression went slack.

“Steph?”

“I threatened her,” she whispered, covering he face with shaking hands. “Oh God, Lester. I’m so sorry! I threatened your daughter’s teacher with my stun gun! I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even realise what I was doing! It’s these damn hormones! And now Kenzie is going to hat me because I got her kicked out just before her big recital and we’ve already bought tickets!”

She couldn’t speak anymore, her body wracked with sobs and shudders as she buried herself in the front of my t-shirt. I hadn’t seen Steph in this much of a state since Rex died. And did she say – “Hormones?” I questioned. A part of me thought she might be referring to _that-time-of-the-month_ , but that didn’t make sense, Ranger usually sent a memo out about such occurrences so we could all be on guard.

Sniffing delicately, she leaned her head back just far enough to meet my gaze through her lashes. “I’m pregnant,” she said timidly.

“That’s great news!” I exclaimed, dragging her back into a much more enthusiastic embrace. “Have you told Ranger? What did he say?”

“He’s excited too,” Steph whispered. “But it’s not excuse for what I’ve just done. Kenzie is gonna hate me.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” I assured her. “I’ll go talk to Miss Moon and smooth things over.”

Steph gave me a hard look. “We need to find a nicer dance teacher,” she told me flatly. “I don’t like the idea of my niece coming here to be bullied once a week. That bitch puts _my mother_ to shame.”

I nodded sagely. If Steph thought someone was worse than Helen Plum, I was inclined to heed her warnings. Steph’s mother had done a number on her head over the years, stunting her self-confidence and belittling her worth. I definitely did not want that for my baby girl. For now, I needed to sweet talk the woman into letting Kenzie dance this weekend, but that would be the end of our time with the studio.

I had to apologise profusely for Steph’s actions, even though I agreed whole heartedly with them, and had it not been for the fact that I’d been blinding by my daughter’s happiness I would have done the same thing, if not worse, months ago. I told Miss Moon in no uncertain terms that Kenzie _would_ be dancing in the recital on the weekend, but that we would not be returning to the studio after it was done. I’d had to endure a lengthy rant about me apparently not caring about my daughter’s future, during which it became increasingly difficult to keep my mouth shut. Eventually, I calmly interrupted her to point out that it was _because_ I cared about my daughter’s future that we would be leaving. I assured her that I would not require a refund of the fees I’d paid for the rest of the semester, that I _would_ see her on Saturday when I would watch my daughter dance, and bid her goodbye.

By the time I’d returned to reception, Kenzie still wasn’t out of the change room yet. It shouldn’t take her this long to get changed.

A mother I didn’t recognise exited with her own daughter – Brooke, I think her name was, she was a grade level above Kenzie. “Kenzie is still in there crying, Mr. Santos,” the girl informed me. “She’s real upset.

Now, ordinarily, I avoided the change room, given that I’m a man and it’s guaranteed to be full of girls of a variety of ages and developments, and stages of undress. As a father, I didn’t need to see that kind of thing. The further I stayed from that changing room, the further I stayed from a law suit. Simple math.

But my baby was in there crying.

I don’t care what rules you have, I’m not going to leave her in their to bawl her eyes out all alone just because I’m the wrong gender. Ploughing through the first set of doors, I came to the change room and knocked loudly. “Everyone decent?” I called. “I’m about to come in.”

But just as I was about to push the door open, it disappeared from under my hand to reveal a red faced, blond haired, teary, green eyed girl dressed in leggings and the t-shirt I’d bought her last month that said _Brightest Star_ on the front in sequins.

“Everything okay, Kenz?” I asked, even though it was plain to see that everything was far from okay. In fact, she looked quite distraught. I crouched down, opening my arms for her and was relieved when she dove straight into them. I scoped her up, bag and all, and carried her back out to reception where Steph was waiting. “You’re okay, baby,” I murmured into her hair. “Everything’s going to be okay. Shhh.” I rubbed her back and rocked her back and forth, just like when she was a baby and had wind.”

Steph met my gaze with an apologetic expression and tears rimming her eyes once more. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s my fault.”

I shook my head at her. I wasn’t about to blame Steph when all she’d done was what I should have done the moment I saw Miss Moon’s temper flare at an innocent child. “What’s wrong, Muffin-head?” I asked, tickling her. “Are you going to tell Daddy? Or do I have to tickle it out of you?”

An indignant squeal pierced the air right besde my ear, but I didn’t care, I needed tog et to the bottom of my daughter’s upset. Before I could reposition my hand for another attack, though, Kenzie had leaned back and placed both her hands on my cheeks quite firmly. “Dad,” she said seriously, and I could tell she was serious because she called me dad instead of daddy. “Stop.”

I pouted at her, but withdrew my hand. “Will you tell me what the tears are about?” I asked.

“No,” she said, squishing my face a little. “You didn’t say please.”

Steph let out a little snort behind her, while I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Will you _please_ tell me what caused the tears, Mackenzie Elizabeth Santos?”

She sniffed lightly, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “Tory said Miss Moon said I cant dance in the recital!” she wailed. “But I want to! I worked really hard on dancing and I don’t fall over as much and I just want to show everyone how good I am at it now and Miss Moon said I can’t.”

“Why would she say that?” I aksed. I knew why, but I needed to assess how much my daughter knew of the situation so I could carry out the appropriate damage control.

“Because I needed to pee and she got mad and Aunty Steph got mad and she said I couldn’t dance in the recital.”

I nodded, letting her know I understood.

“And,” she continued, taking a deep breath and pushing her frizzy hair back from her face. “And Aunty Steph said I won’t be dance here anymore, but I want to dance her! My friends dance here! And I want to dance with them in the recital, but I can’t because Miss Moon said no. But I really want to.”

“I’m so sorry, Kenzie-Boo!” Steph said, suddenly at my shoulder so she could face Kenzie. I’d been too focused on my daughter, and hadn’t even seen her move. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but Miss Moon was being a bully and she shouldn’t be. I couldn’t just sit there and watch. Will you _please_ forgive me?”

I had to admire Steph’s use of manners in the situation, but Kenzie wasn’t ready. Instead, she buried her face back in my shoulder.

“Hey, Kenzie,” I said, trying to coax her back out of her shell. “I spoke to Miss Moon and she said you can still dance in the recital this weekend,” I told her.

“Really?” Another ear splitting squeal. Right by my ear. I was going to be deaf by the time I hit forty at this rate. “Do I get to stay here?”

“We’ll see,” I hedged. “We might test out some other studios and see if you like them, but Kenz,” I glanced over at Steph. “Aunty Steph has some _really exciting_ news to tell you. Right Steph?”

She looked at me, confused, until I pointed at her flat stomach. “Oh! Right!” she exclaimed. “Kenzie-Boo! I’m going to be a mommy!”

Kenzie’s brow furrowed slight. Not the reaction we were expecting, for sure. “Are you going to be _my_ mommy?” she asked carefully, her expression guarded.

Steph shook her head, trying not to laugh. “No, sweetie, I’m going to have a baby of my own.”

Steph’s word did not, as it turns out, have the desired effect. Rather than being excited by the prospect of a baby cousin around the place to play with, Kenzie, in her fragile emotional state, dissolved. Her normally jubilant face fell, her chin crumpling in it’s pre-cry paper ball imitation.

“But what about me?” she wailed.

I almost wanted to laugh. Almost. My daughter has gone and assumed that if Steph has her own chil, she won’t need, or have time, to hang out with her anymore. It was adorable. But heartbreaking. I guess telling her on the day she’s already been upset wasn’t the best choice.

“Honey,” I soothed, tightening my grip on her. “Baby. Chicken-soup-for-the-soul. Steph will still hang out with you too, sweetheart. She’ll just have a baby as well. Nothing’s going to change. You’ll still have your Aunty Steph time, I promise. _And_ when the baby gets a little older you can play with him or her and teach it how to do all the really cool things you already know how to do. Doesn’t that sound good?”

With an abrupt hiccup, Kenzie stopped crying and blinked at me as if she’d just remembered something, which, judging by the question that erupted from her mouth a moment later, I suppose she had. “Did you and Uncle Los-Los pass the test?” she asked her aunt.

“The test?” Steph questioned, sending me a confused look that reminded me of the fact that she was unable to raise her eyebrows independently of each other. “What test?”

“The mommy and daddy test,” Kenzie explained, squirming out of my arms and sliding down to the floor where she held Steph’s hand and started leading her out to the car park. “Daddy says you have to take a really long test to find out if you can keep the baby, or you have to give it to another mommy and daddy to look after.” The patience with which she explained this made me think of the kind of tone one would use to explain to a particularly dim witted child that the sky is, in fact, not yellow.

“What?” Steph asked. She sent me another confused look over her head, and I tried not to laugh. “What test?”

“I’ve been telling Kenz about her Mom,” I explained. “And how we met. I’d just finished telling her about the paternity test when you and Hal arrived.

“Ohhhh,” she breathed. “ _That_ test, well,” she returned her focus to Kenzie. “Since Uncle Los-Los and I are already married, we don’t need to do the test.”

“You don’t have to do the test?” Kenzie clarified. “Then how do you know you can take care of the baby? The eternity test is supposed to tell you if you can.”

“The test was part of getting married,” Steph lied easily. “There’s a lot of tests before you get married and that’s one of them.”

Thankfully, Kenzie accepted this answer without further question. “I never want to get married,” she announced. “I hate tests.” And then she skipped over to the SUV Hal was sitting in and knocked politely on the driver window. “Hey Uncle Hal, guess what,” she chirped, all signs of her earlier meltdown having disappeared.

“What, squirt?” he asked, leaning out the window.

“My Aunty Steph is going to have a baby.”

“What?!” Hal yelled, jerking his head back to look at as so fast and hard that he nearly knocked himself out on the car door. “Having a … you’re… pr-pr-“

“Yes,” steph confirmed with a laugh, her hand gliding over her stomach. “I’m pregnant.”

“B-but, I-I-I-,” Hal stammered. “I- I- R-Ranger- and-.” His eyes widened. “Oh God,” he moaned. “Oh no. Oh geez. I’m going to- Ranger’s gonna- I let you out of my sight!“

“Shh, Uncle Hal,” Kenzie said, patting him on the arm as he rambled on. “It’s okay, she’ll still have time to spend with you, she’ll just have a baby as well. And maybe you can teach it the cool stuff you know when it grows up a little.”

And on that note, Steph and I both cracking up with hysterical laughter, I herded the light of my life into her booster seat and belted her in. As I was backing out of the back seat, Kenzie leaned over and pressed a wet kiss to my forehead.

“What was that for?” I asked, resisting the urge to smear the slobber away.

“I’m really happy you passed the test, Daddy.”

“How do you know I passed the test?” I asked her in shock. “I haven’t told you the rest of the story yet.”

She giggled then. “Daddy, you got to keep me. You _had to_ pass.”


	8. Chapter 7

** Chapter 7 **

_Past_

It took less time than I thought it would have to obtain a kit. For one, I was pretty sure Bobby kept one on hand in case of emergency (a fact that he stalwartly denies). And for another, Phoebe ordered hers with overnight courier. By Sunday afternoon, Bobby had taken blood and saliva samples from the both of us, and packaged it off to the lab for testing. It was all just a matter of time until we found out what was what.

Monday morning, while working through the standard pile of paperwork left over from last week, I’d decided to run a check on her. Just the basics, see if there was any history she wasn’t likely to tell me, like fifteen other kids all to different fathers, a murder charge, that kind of thing. As it turns out her criminal record was so clean it was practically sterile, which didn’t exactly bode well for explaining what exactly my job was and how much of my past landed in the moral grey area. What _did_ surprise me was the fact that she was currently in the middle of a divorce.

Well, I say middle, but the papers were filed two weeks ago. The divorce had barely started. Irreconcilable differences, according to the file, but I had a feeling this had more to do with adultery. The adultery she’d committed with me.

Shit.

Apparently I’d managed to inadvertently break two of my own rules: don’t sleep with married women and don’t get them pregnant. At least they’d had the good sense to file for a no-fault divorce. It’d get it done quicker. No need to for long, drawn out court battles about who fucked who over.

I needed to confront Phoebe about it. I needed to tell her how angry I was that she’d lied to me, making me believe she was single. Just because I was desperate for a bed partner did not mean I was willing to throw away my morals in order to get laid. Which is exactly what she’d coerced me into doing by pretending she was unattached. She was _so_ attached. Married is as attached as you can get. I wanted to call her and yell at her, or something, but I knew that was a bad idea. I was too raw. I needed to work out some of the anger before I spoke to her or things could end up blowing up in my face.

She could decide to do a runner on me regardless of whether I was the father or not. She could deny me the right to see my child. If I showed violent tendencies toward her she had cause to exclude me completely. That wasn’t what I wanted. If the child was, in fact mine.

So that’s how I found myself in the gym at 0930 beating the shit out of Hank when I should have been running initial checks on the new skips that had come in. I rammed my shoulder into his gut, sending him to the ground for the third time. He decided to stay there, not that I could blame him. I had too much honour to kick a man when he was down.

“Get up,” I instructed, breathing heavily and shaking out my limbs.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he panted, lifting his head to look at me. “I love a good ass kicking as much as the next man, but I feel like there’s some deeper issues that you might actually need to talk about, rather than taking them out on my spleen.”

“She’s married,” I spat.

“Phoebe?” he clarified, sitting up. I had his interest now.

I crossed to the bottle of water I’d set nearby before stepping into the ring, taking a long pull before replying with a simple, “Yep.”

“Damn,” Hank breathed, “That’s two out of three rules on one girl.”

“I know.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” he asked, joining me as exited the ring and started for the showers.

I shook my head, finishing the water and tossing the empty bottle in the bin as we passed it. “Nothing at the moment. I won’t know if any of this is really my problem until we get the results of the paternity back.”

“But she lied to you, man,” Hank pointed out, like I hadn’t already figured that much out.

“I know. But she’s pregnant and she’s getting a divorce and there’s a chance I might be the father.” I shook my head, tossing my shirt into the laundry hamper and following it with my shorts. “At this point getting mad at her isn’t going to do me any favours. “I’m gonna wait. Maybe she’ll tell me on her own.”

“If you say so, man,” he replied, disappearing back out of the locker room, probably going to finish the workout I’d rudely interrupted.

@

Two days later, I’d just stepped out of the shower and was working some gel through my hair when there was a knock at my apartment door. I quickly styled my hair so that it wouldn’t dry in that unkempt way I hated, and washed the excess product off my hands. The knock came again, louder this time and followed by Bobby’s voice.

“Open up, Lester!” he called as I secured a towel around my hips on the way across the living space.

“Jesus, Bobby, I’m right here,” I announced, throwing the door open just as he raised a fist to pound it some more. “What?”

He held up an envelope in answer.

“Is that-?” I asked, swallowing the rest of my questions.

“The results are in,” he said grimly.

“Have you looked at them?” I asked, stepping aside to let him in.

“They’re not mine to look at,” he pointed out, dropping the envelope on the breakfast table and making his way to the pot of coffee on my kitchen counter, helping himself. When we both had a cup, we stood on opposite sides of the table, just staring. Anyone would have thought that we were facing a bomb. I suppose it wasn’t too far off, given the effect it could have on my life. “You should open it,” Bobby said after a long time.

I glanced at the clock on the microwave. He was right. I needed to be on the floor in fifteen minutes. I had just enough time to find out my fate, get dressed and maybe send a text to Phoebe before I was late. Man, texting that kind of information could be seen as a low blow depending on the results. I’d have to call her. I was probably going to be late for work. Not that I didn’t think Ranger would understand, but still.

Moving with infinite slowness, I set my mug on the table and picked up the envelope, tearing away the tab at the top. My hands were shaking as I drew the paper out from within, staring at the page.

“Well?”

I didn’t say anything. I was still staring at the page. I’d forgotten how confusing these things were. There were columns and numbers and words that meant pretty much nothing to me. Eventually, I got my eyes to focus on the block of test at the bottom of the page, reading it carefully, twice through. All the air left my chest. I had to sit down.

“Les?” Bobby said, leaning over the table toward me. “You alright?”

“I think I’m the father,” I breathed, pushing the papers his way. “I think that’s what it says. That’s what it says, right?”

He took the sheet from me and perused it quickly. As I watched his eyes moving over the text, I saw his non-expression drop into place, hiding his true emotions from the world. And me. “Yeah,” he finally said, even though I’d already gleaned as much from his reaction. “You’re the father.”

“Shit,” I muttered, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. I felt a headache budding behind them.

“Yeah,” Bobby agreed, pulling out a chair on his side and sitting down with me. “What’s your plan?” My plan? I didn’t have a plan. All of the information in the flow chart I’d memorised couldn’t help me until I knew what Phoebe wanted to do. It was her body after all. “Les?”

Dropping my hands to the table, I gazed into the eyes of my best friend, took a deep breath – because I felt a little nauseas – and said. “Talk to her. Find out her decision. Go from there.”

“It’s not all about her, you know,” Bobby said gently. “You’re entitled to an opinion. It’s your life changing event too, now.”

He was right. Which didn’t help matters. I needed to know how I felt about things too. I _should_ have opinions. I needed advice. I needed to let Phoebe know that the results were in and then I needed to talk to… someone. My first instinct was to call my parents. They always had sage words to offer me when I was caught up in my head. But I that would require telling them about the whole fiasco. There was no way I could ask for Mom and Dad’s advice about a woman I got pregnant without actually telling them I got a woman pregnant.

Simple Math.

Besides, they didn’t have experience in the matter. They’d been married for years before I came along.

“I think I need to talk to Ranger,” I said eventually.

“That’s a good place to start,” Bobby agreed. “But remember that you are not your cousin. His decisions were made in a different place in a different time. His circumstances were vastly different then than yours are now.”

Nodding, I gulped down some of my coffee, immediately regretting it as it reminded of how hot it was by scolding me all the way down. “I need to get dressed and call Phoebe,” I announced. "And then I need to talk to Ranger. And think about my life. I think I'll volunteer for monitor duty today.”


	9. Chapter 8

** Chapter 8 **

_Present_

“So what happened when you passed the test?” Kenzie asked casually. She was perched in her usual place at the kitchen counter, and I _thought_ she was working on her letter practice homework, but apparently, her tracing and copying shapes left her mind free enough to contemplate other things. Maybe I’d have to talk to her teacher about that.

“Well, the first thing I did was talk to Uncle Los-Los,” I explained, noticing that all pretence of story time with the Handsome Man and Headstrong Woman was now gone.

“Why?”

I flipped the chicken in the pan and checked on the vegetable frittata in the oven before replying. It gave me a chance to mentally prepare for another round of Q and A with the most inquisitive mind since Stephanie Plum. “Because he’s good at giving advice,” I said, grabbing plates from the cupboard and setting them on the table. “And because he’d been through the same thing.”

“Same thing?” she asked.

“Accidentally making a baby,” I reminded her.

“Oh.” But her brow was furrowed when I glanced over at her. Her pencil poised two inches from the page. “But Uncle Los-Los doesn’t have a baby yet. Auntie Steph has it in her tummy.”

Okay, she was right, but at five years old did I really expect her to grasp the delicate intricacies of familial relations and the concept of life before she came along? It was probably asking a bit much. She did know Julie. She obviously just didn’t quite know where she fit in the puzzle yet. “You know Julie?” I asked. “Cousin Julie?”

“Uh huh.”

“Uncle Los-Los is her Daddy,” I said.

Her frown deepened and she started chewing on the end of the pencil. I decided to wait her out, leaning against the sink. She was doing some heavy thinking. Far be it from me to interrupt a child’s train of thought. Finally, she laid the pencil down on her page, folding her hands on top of both. “But why doesn’t she live with Uncle Los-Los?”

“Well,” I started, choosing my words carefully. I didn’t any more slips like the test. “When he was younger, Uncle Los-Los made a baby with a girl he didn’t know. Just like I did with Mummy. And he took the test. Just like Mummy and I did. But he decided not to live with the girl and the baby.”

Kenzie gasped, sitting up straighter as she met my gaze, worry clear on her face. “Did he fail the test?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “No, Muffin-Head, he passed the test. He just wasn’t ready to be a father.”

The frown was back. I wasn’t doing this topic justice. I was creating more questions and confusion than I was clearing up. Probably she’d be asking all sorts of inappropriate questions at school tomorrow. “But,” she uttered quietly. “He passed the test. He got to keep the baby. Why didn’t he?” She sounded tearful, which just wasn’t on. I had no problem with my daughter being upset if there was a valid reason, but this was events that were not only out of her control, but twenty years in the past.

“Honey, Baby, Chicken-Pop,” I soothed, scooping her up off the stool and propping her on the counter. “Don’t worry. Sometimes adults’ lives aren’t simple. Just because the baby was his didn’t mean he had to keep it.”

“Huh?”

I sighed, trying find a way to phrase it that would help her understand. A glance over her shoulder and into the backyard, was all the inspiration I needed. “It’s like the playground,” I told her. “Are you allowed to go on the swings?”

Her eyes narrowed, always looking for the catch. “Yes.”

“But you don’t always go on the swings, do you?”

Shaking her head, she reached up and tugged my ears out away from my head. “I like the monkey bars better,” she informed me.

I nodded, my ears still in her grasps. “Uncle Los-Los liked the monkey bars better too,” I said. And then I puffed my cheeks out and crossed my eyes. Doing the monkey impression I knew she was waiting for. Her giggles filled the kitchen for a long moment as I kept up the impression by dancing around with my arms over my head and then picking through her head, pretending to eat the lice I sincerely hoped she didn’t have. I checked on dinner as I monkeyed around and came to rest on the stool I’d removed her from.

“But-“

Distracted though she was by my antics, she proved once again that she had the intense focus required for interrogation. I decided to try to tell the whole situation with the playground analogy. She seemed to grasp it easier than talking about real people.

“Uncle Los-Los chose the monkey bars over the swings,” I started. “And for a long time that satisfied him, but after a while he kinda wanted to have the swings in his life. But when he finally had the swings in his life, it wasn’t the same. The swings weren’t as welcoming as they would have been if he’d chosen them first.”

Kenzie leaned her elbow on her thigh, cupping her chin in her hand, her big green eyes as sad as the saddest dog you’ve ever seen. “He hurt the swings feelings?”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “So I wanted to talk to him about it to find out how he felt. Because I had to choose between the swings and the monkey bars.”

She shuffled her way into my lap, then, perhaps understanding on some level that we were talking about the possibilities that I wouldn’t have been in her life at all if things had gone differently. “Did Uncle Los-Los tell you to choose the swings?”

I hefted her onto my hip as I crossed the room to rescue the chicken before it burned. “No he did not,” I told her, snapping the tongs playfully in front of her nose. “He gave me a lot to think about and told me to follow my heart.”

“Aaand?” she prompted expectantly.

“I chose you,” I pointed out, peppering kisses all over her face. She was giggling wildly, trying to get away from my tickling hands. After a few moments she managed to slip out of my grasp and down to the floor just as the oven time sounded. “Go wash up for dinner,” I told her, swiping her hair out of her face. “We’ll finish your homework after.”

She ran to the hall, heading for the bathroom, but paused hugging the doorframe to look back at me. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, Kenz?”

“I’m the swings, right?” **  
**


	10. Chapter 9

** Chapter 9 **

_Past_

The talk with my cousin, while long and insightful, did not present me with a solid answer to the questions swirling through my head and my heart. He spoke of his decisions back when he found out Rachel was pregnant. He explained that he still stood by them to this day, despite the difficulties he’d had reintegrating himself into his own daughter’s life because of it. He told me he had no regrets but for the fact that he wasn’t more present in her life. But even that was not a regretful action, because it kept her safe much longer than if he were a constant fixture. He knew he had enemies. He knew they would stop at nothing to get to him, even if it meant targeting his family.

He explained that because he’d missed most of Julie’s childhood, when he finally decided to step up and be a physical presence in her life she was suspicious and wary, especially after the Scrog incident. He told me that whenever she contacted him it always felt like an afterthought, like she suddenly realised that she was obligated to inform him of the events in her life, like getting into or graduating college. And while their relationship was much better now that she was old enough to understand some of his decision making processes - she was, in fact, around the same age he had been when she was conceived – it was still tense. They didn’t have that shared history that she had with Ron, who had raised her like his own. Even going so far as to legally adopt her when he signed away his rights.

“I wouldn’t change any of the decisions I made,” he told me firmly. “But that’s my life. My timeline. I know you’re asking for my help, cousin, but I can’t make the decision for you and you shouldn’t model your future on my past. The situations, while appearing the same, are completely different. All I can do is offer you this advice: Look at your life. Figure out what works and what doesn’t work. What you like and what you don’t like. Measure the empty space in your life, in your heart, in your home. Is there room? Is there time? Is there reason?”

I don’t know when Ranger turned into Yoda, but that was some serious shit he was spinning there. As I stared at his left eyebrow, processing his words, I couldn’t help but ask, “Did Steph coach you on what to say when I came to ask your advice?”

Ranger chuckled. “You’re kidding, right? Steph would have handed you a beer, told you the story of the time she thought she was pregnant and how it was the scariest four hours of her life, offered you a peanut butter and olive sandwich then flipped a hockey game on TV.”

He had a point. Steph was not the most emotionally stable person in the world, and her family history meant that she dealt with tough situations with food and denial more than open conversations and thoughtful anecdotal advice.

So with Ranger’s words still ringing in my head, I spent the day staring at some screens, a thankfully mindless activity, since all my brain power was now focused on figuring out my life and what I wanted in and out of it.

At nineteen hundred hours, I left the Rangeman building, headed down the street to the diner where I’d agreed to meet Phoebe. I was pretty sure I’d come to a decision, but there was still a lot to work out.

She was already there when I entered. Her back to me in the booth at the far end of the restaurant. She looked up from the menu she was reading as I slid in across from her, a protest on her lips until she realised it was me. “Lester,” she said breathily, her gaze roaming down from my face to take in my black uniform t-shirt stretched tight over my pecs. “You’re looking… fine.”

“You’re looking much better than you were sounding this morning,” I countered.

She rolled her eyes. “Of course,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s called _morning_ sickness. As in, _before midday_. I’m fine now.”

“That’s good,” I said. I had no idea how to broach the topics I knew I had to broach. If we were going to enter into this world where our lives were connected we needed a certain amount of honesty between us. After several moments and a deep sigh, I decided to just start with that. “Phoebe, look, if our lives are gonna be connected by this child, we needed to be honest with each other.”

“Okay,” she agreed, but the look on her face said she had no idea what I was getting at. Better start slow, I warned myself, or she’ll leave and cut you out of your kid’s life completely.

“How do you feel about having a baby?” I asked.

Her hand drifted down to her stomach at my question and I noticed for the first time that it was not flat like I’d assumed it was on our recent meetings. I suppose it was because her t-shirt today was form fitting while at the club and when we met at the motel to get the samples for the paternity test, she’d been in a flowy dress. “I’m happy,” she informed me firmly, staring straight into my eyes. “It’s not exactly how I pictured becoming a mother, but I’m not complaining. We created a life, Lester, and I _won’t_ be the one to destroy it.”

What had started as a simple statement of contentment, suddenly ended with fierce accusatory words and flashing angry eyes. I was a little taken aback, given her timidness and uncertainty since seeking me out in the club, but it was more true to the character she’d shown three months ago when this all started, so I wasn’t exactly shocked to see her inner tiger bare it’s claws. Plus, pregnancy hormones and stuff, right?

“Hey,” I said quietly, holding up my hands. “I never said I wanted to destroy it. I was just asking how you feel about committing to this life. Just because you’ve decided not to terminate doesn’t mean you’re planning on keeping the baby.”

“Of _course_ I’m keeping the baby,” she spat. “What is _wrong_ with you? A child is a _gift_.”

Wow. I’d really stuck my foot in it now. Hadn’t even meant to. Maybe Steph was right, maybe I had a gift for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time in mildly important situations. “Okay,” I murmured after a long, tense moment that did not appear to be anywhere near long enough for her to calm down. “So we’re keeping the baby.”

Her eyes flashed again, and I was fairly certain she had the ability to make my blood run cold if she so desired. “We?” she questioned.

“Yeah,” I said. “We. I want to be a part of this baby’s life. We’re in this together now.”

Surprisingly, her shoulders relaxed a little at that, her expression softening. “Okay,” she said. “Good. I’d like that. I, uh, think I’ll need the help.”

I nodded my understanding. “They say it takes a village to raise a child,” I said reassuringly. “Even a strong woman needs back up from time to time.” _Smooth, Santos. Sweet talk her. Lull her into a sense of security. Make her trust you. This is your strength. You’ve been practicing for this moment every weekend since you were fifteen_. “So let’s get some stuff figured out,” I suggested. “Starting with your place of residence. How long are you planning on living in that motel?”

She grimaced. “Just until I find a more permanent place I can afford,” she explained. “My parents kind of kicked me out when they found out I was pregnant out of wedlock.”

 _Parents_ , I thought doubtfully. It more likely her husband had kicked her out when he found her cheating _and_ pregnant and she was too ashamed to tell her parents. But still. I couldn’t let the mother of my child live in a dingy motel. “I, uh, have a place,” I mentioned cautiously, not wanting to provoke her again. “It’s just outside of town. I don’t use it often, because I also have an apartment in the building where I work, but I’d be happy to open my home to you.”

Her eyes lit up. “Really?” she asked, and the hope in her tone was so thick I thought it was going to start oozing from her pores. “You would do that? You don’t even really know me and…”

“You’re having my baby, Phoebe,” I pointed out. “My first priority is keeping you and it safe. What better way to do that than keeping you in my home.”

“You don’t _keep_ a woman, Lester Santos,” Phoebe said lightly, leaning an elbow on the table and cocking her head to the side with a slight smile. “But I appreciate the sentiment. When, ah, when do you think I could move in?”

“I have Saturday off,” I said. “How does ten o’clock sound?”

“Perfect,” she sighed gratefully, seeming to melt into the booth.

We were quiet for a few minutes, me trying to figure out a way to bring up the topic of her decaying marriage and her, well, I have no idea what was on her mind. I’m not a mind reader. She looked uneasy. Kept glancing at me when she thought I wasn’t looking. Just as I was about to stand to leave, figuring there was nothing left to discuss this evening, she reached out and laid a hand on top of mine on the tabletop.

“Lester, can I tell you something?” she asked nervously.

“Anything,” I agreed, my pulse picking up as I contemplated what she was about to confess. Would she really reveal her infidelity to her husband to me that easily? I hadn’t even asked about it.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be this… thoughtful,” she admitted. So, _not_ about cheating on her husband, then. “Thank you. It means a lot to know that you’ll be there to help me through this.”

I rested my hand on top of hers. “Of course,” I said. “I’m an honourable man.”

“Thank you,” she repeated.

I just nodded. I wanted her to come clean about the husband. I wanted to know what was going on with that, make sure that this baby was the reason for the divorce. I could probably do some digging and find out on my own, but it seemed better to have her tell me herself. If we were going to be in each other’s lives for a while – like, a life time – it was probably best to form the basis of our relationship from this point on honesty. That meant that I needed her to be truthful with me, but I also needed as much as possible to not go behind her back to snoop on her.

She was going through a lot of physical, emotional and probably social changes right now. I’d give her another few days to come clean. Maybe she just needed the right conversation to lead into it. I could work on that for Saturday.

“I’ll be at the motel at ten on Saturday,” I reminded her. “If you need anything before then, just call.”


	11. Chapter 10

** Chapter 10 **

Past

“Are you sure about this, man?” Bobby asked, not for the first time, as we piled into my truck Saturday morning. He’d been sceptical from the second I announced the plan, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t agree with his viewpoint at least a little. Phoebe may be the mother of my unborn child, but I hardly knew her, and at this point almost everything I _did_ know about her landed her squarely in the untrustworthy column of acquaintances. And yet I’d offered up my home anyway.

“Do you have a better solution?” I said, my voice flat. It had been doing that a lot more often than usual in the last week. I just couldn’t muster up my same vibrant zest for life knowing that nearly ever detail of it was set to change dramatically over the coming months. I’d gotten a girl pregnant, and now I needed to man up and do the right think. Whatever the hell that was, because at this point everything seemed wrong.

“Yeah,” Bobby said. “I do. You could let her stay in that hotel a while longer until she works out a more permanent solution on her own dime.”

He was pissed. Possibly more annoyed about the situation than I was, which was saying something, because I was absolutely livid with the way things were turning out. Not only had I unwillingly allowed myself to sleep with a married woman, she’d somehow gotten pregnant, and now I was stuck dealing with the consequences. Not only that, I was entirely unconvinced that any of this was an accident. And Bobby’s mood wasn’t helping matters. I’d never known him to hold such strong opinions about my life. Sure, he’d always been there for support and advice, but he’d never judged. Not like this at least. He could barely contain his contempt for the woman.

I sighed, backing the truck out of the parking space and swinging it towards the exit. “You saw the place she’s staying,” I reminded him. “You said yourself it’s a health hazard. I have a responsibility to make sure she and the baby are safe and healthy.” It wasn’t often that I was the level headed, rational half of a conversation, and that fact that I was now only added to the storm cloud hanging over my head.

“I’m just saying,” Bobby said, after a slow breath to calm himself down – maybe he was hating this role reversal as much as I was. “That there are ways to ensure her health and safety without inviting her into your sanctuary, at least until you know her a bit better.”

He was right, of course. I could have helped fund an apartment for her to stay in while we ironed out the many kinks in the whole situation, but as far as I was concerned, that was just delaying the inevitable. I may not have wanted to settled down just yet, but I’d be damned if I was going to let anything keep me from being a good father now that the choice in the matter had been taken away from me. I had to work with what I had, and what I had was a woman how had lied to me almost every time I’d spoken to her, and who posed a major flight risk if I so much as hinted at not being okay with this baby.

Bobby may be concerned about me opening my home to this perfect stranger, and while I shared his hesitance to a degree, I couldn’t deny the strategy behind the offer. My home was monitored by one of Rangeman’s state of the art security systems, so at least if she was staying there I could keep tabs on her to a point. Between that and the tracking device I had in my pocket to plant on her car, I felt confident that I’d at least have some warning if she did decide to do a runner.

I said as much to Bobby as I wound my way through the streets of Trenton to the worst motel I knew of in the area, and that seemed to placate him somewhat. Along with the knowledge that I had moved anything valuable at the house to my Rangeman apartment, including any arms I’d had stashed in the vault. The house was now essentially little more than an empty shell, ready for her to move in.

Phoebe was clearly suffering from morning sickness when we arrived at the motel and knocked on the door to her room. She was pale, almost grey in complexion, and was not at all as put together as she had been every other time we’d met. Her hair was in a messy bird’s nest on top of her head, something I’d seen Steph do from time to time, but where Steph made it look almost elegant, on Phoebe it gave the impression of a drug addict in the throes of withdrawal. Add to that the sheen of sweat on her forehead, the dark circles under her eyes and the overall greyish pallor and I was genuinely unsurprised by the brief thoughts of zombie special effects make-up that flitted through my mind. What the hell was I getting myself into?

“Morning,” I greeted when she just squinted at me in the bright sunlight. “Ready to get this show on the road?”

Her reply came in the form of distinct intent-to-vomit face as she dashed away, leaving us at the open doorways as she disappeared into the ensuite bathroom.

“Guess not,” Bobby murmured.

“Anything you can do to help?” I asked, casting him a glance over my shoulder as I crossed the threshold, taking in the general disarray filling the room. I’d expected her to have everything packed so I could just put it in the truck; a quick transfer, in-and-out mission. Clearly, my expectations were too high. Note to self: organise to spend more time with Phoebe. I should really know the woman I will be co-parenting with a little better.

“I’ll see if this dump has any vending machines that work,” Bobby said. “Some electrolytes and plain crackers might do her good, but there’s nothing I can offer to stop it entirely.”

I nodded my understanding. I knew this wasn’t his area of expertise, and that there wasn’t much that could be done to prevent morning sickness, but hopefully some hydration and plain food would help settle her stomach at least enough to give Bobby and I some direction in sorting through and packing the mess of her belongings.

The belongings that would soon be occupying space in the home that had become the equivalent of Superman’s fortress of solitude for me, I realised. It was where I went when I needed to relax and disconnect from the world. To be alone. Well, not anymore. Maybe Bobby had a point. Maybe I’d been too hasty in offering up my personal sanctuary to this woman. But I just wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing. Regardless of whatever backstory there was that she wasn’t telling me, I was partly responsible for the life brewing inside her. My mama would be appalled if she learned that I’d allowed the mother of her first grandchild to live in this disease-ridden motel when I had a perfectly good house that she could stay in.

One way to ensure she didn’t find out was to not allow it to happen in the first place. So while I was far from ready to tell my parents about Phoebe and the baby, they were already guiding my decisions.

They’d always tried to instil good morals in me, which had served me well thus far. Even if they weren’t pleased with the coping mechanisms I’d developed, they could at least concede that I was careful, courteous, thoughtful and responsible in my approach. And now, with Phoebe, I was trying to do the right thing, even if it meant sacrificing some of my own privacy and comfort to do so.

 _“That’s what being a parent is all about,”_ I recall my dad saying when I’d thanked him for everything he’d done for me. “Sacrifices to give your child a good life.”

I looked a little closer at some of the items strewn around, trying to determine if I could safely start packing for her while she was indisposed, but ultimately decided I didn’t know her well enough, nor had I built up enough of trust with her to paw through her belongings without permission. Between the secrets I knew she was keeping from me and the flighty behaviour she’d exhibited when we met at the diner earlier in the week, I wasn’t willing to risk an adverse reaction by jumping in to help where I wasn’t wanted.

By the time Bobby had returned with an armful of food-based nausea remedies, the retching noises that were drifting out from the bathroom had ceased, replaced by the squeals of old plumbing as water gushed from the faucet. She emerged a moment later, face damp and looking like death. I definitely would not have slept with her if she’d presented me with this side of her.

“I got a few things that might help soothe your stomach,” Bobby said, stepping forward with his vending machine spoils while I just stared. “Gatorade for hydration and electrolytes, plain salted chips, a packet of saltines and a can of Sprite.”

Phoebe screwed her nose up at him. “You brought me, sugar, artificial flavours, and carbs,” she told him none too kindly. “D you know what that does to your body?”

Bobby cut his eyes to me and though he’d managed to keep his face free of expression, I’d seen that glance often enough to correctly interpret the question hidden beneath the surface. He was questioning Phoebe’s seriousness on her statements, and probably, my sanity for not only sleeping with her, but allowing my life to be come so firmly entangled with her own.

What can I say? The crazy doesn’t usually matter for the activities I usually undertake with these women. It doesn’t matter if they have strict rules about sugar and carbs if all we’re doing is fucking each other’s brains out. It was one of the major benefits to my lifestyle.

At least it _had_ been until I made the fatal error of getting a married woman pregnant.

I just shrugged. They’re not good for you in large quantities, no,” I agreed with her, hoping that if I played good cop to Bobby’s bad, she might trust me a little more. “But in small amounts they’re not so bad. It’s about balance. If you drink or eat these now, they might help you feel a bit better quicker, and allow you to eat healthier later in the day when your stomach isn’t upset.”

She just stared at me for a long moment, and I have to admit, the heat of her glare was scorching, but I’d endured much worse from people who were intent on breaking me, so it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. I kept my face passive, waiting for her response. Eventually she sighed and held her hand out towards Bobby. “I’ll take the Sprite,” she said. “But you can keep your gluten and food dyes. I have some green apples in the bar fridge.”

Relief washed over the both of us as we sprang into action, Bobby juggling his armful to hand her the Sprite, and me hopscotching my way across the room to retrieve an apple for her. We allowed her a few sips and a bite before bringing up the issue of packing.

Much to my relief she didn’t seem to hold any concern with us helping to gather her belongings and in twenty minutes into the few suitcases and boxes she had. While Bobby carried them down to my truck, I did a final walk through of the motel room to make sure we hadn’t left anything behind and accompanied Phoebe, who was gaining colour by the minute but still did not appear well, to the front desk to check out.

When we met Bobby back in the parking lot and Phoebe had to make a dash for the bushes near by to throw up in, the decision was made to divide and conquer. Bobby would drive my truck, and I would drive Phoebe in her car. It served the dual purpose of getting her and her belongings to my house quickly and easily without the need to rely on GPS directions or the follow the leader method, and prevented her from having a morning sickness induced accident of either the car or personal variety.


	12. Chapter 11

** Chapter 11 **

Present

“So then Uncle Bobby and Daddy helped Mommy move her things in here,” I concluded, waving my free hand to encompass not just the bathroom where we’d been working on getting the knots out of McKenzie’s hair, but the house in all it’s entirety. A building that, prior to the events in the tale I was spinning, had been little more than a physical structure where I could hide myself away from time to time. These days, though, it contained my whole world.

“And they all lived happily ever after!” Kenzie cried excitedly, even as the brush caught on yet another tangle, jerking her head to the side. Endings had always been her favourite part of a story, so it came as no surprise to me that she was attempting to draw this one to a close prematurely.

I shook my head, setting the brush aside so I could gather her hair up in the simple braid Steph had taught me for minimising the amount of tangles that worked their way back into the hair while she slept. “Not quite,” I informed her. “The story is far from over.”

I almost missed the confused expression in the mirror as I concentrated on getting my fingers in the right positions to manipulate her hair. Give me a gun to disassemble and reassemble blindfolded any day, at least all the pieces maintained a solid shape throughout the process. “But Mommy lived here,” she reasoned slowly, shoving carelessly at a strand of hair that had fall out of my grasp. “And you live here. And you had me.”

“Ah,” I murmured, realising where her confusion was stemming from. “Mommy and Daddy didn’t live together straight away,” I explained. I’d obviously glossed over that detail while trying to edit out the less savoury details, like her mother’s true nature and subterfuge.

“But you said Mommy moved in here,” she pointed out with the kind of patience I was pretty sure she could only have picked up from Ella or my mother. “And you said it’s _your_ house.”

“That’s right,” I agreed. “But I wasn’t living here when Mommy moved in.”

Her reflection frowned at me. “Where were you living?”

“At Rangeman like Uncle Bobby,” I said, dropping her hair and regathering it to start again, Steph made it look so easy when she showed me, but every time I’d attempted it without her standing over me it all fell out of my hands.

“Why?” Kenzie asked.

I silently groaned. I really didn’t want to get into a _why_ conversation this close to bedtime, especially knowing the topic already. It was just going to end in frustration. “Because it was close to work, and easy to maintain,” I explained honestly, even if the concepts were a little beyond her.

“But why did you have a house but you weren’t living in it?” she pressed, swivelling to look at me directly and dislodging her hair from my grasp once more. “And why didn’t you move in with Mommy? That’s what mommies and daddies do.”

The sigh I’d tried to suppress fell from my lips anyway, like the disobedient show of emotion it was. “I had the house because sometimes I needed a place to be by myself,” I told her, spinning her back around and quickly taking hold of her hair, like grabbing up the reins of a runaway horse. Without wasting another second, I started passing the three strands I’d divided it into over and over each other until I had something that looked vaguely like what Steph had shown me. _Close enough for jazz,_ I thought, securing the ends with an elastic and tossing the completed braid over her shoulder so she could see it.

She wasn’t interested in congratulating me on my hair achievement, though. Still too bogged down in the details of my and her mother’s living situation five years ago. “But you can’t be by yourself in the house, Daddy,” she pointed out, turning to face me again. “That’s where mommy lived.”

“Let me finish, Muffin-Head,” I requested, dropping her brush and hair elastics back into the drawer below the counter she sat on and retrieving our tooth brushes from the cup beside her, handing hers to her while I squeezed out some toothpaste for each of us. “Before I met mommy, I used the house for being alone,” I explained, while she started brushing her teeth. “But the house was a good solution for mommy because she had nowhere else to live.”

“Buh wwwhhhhyyyyy din you lib wif mommy?” she asked, eyes wide an imploring as she practically foamed at the mouth with curiosity.

“I didn’t know her, munchkin.”

She levelled a look at me that reminded me so much of Phoebe that it sent shivers down my spine. The only thing that prevented it from being truly effective was the trail of toothpaste foam sliding down her chin. “But you’re mommy and daddy,” she pointed out. “You played together. And you had a baby. You passed the test and you had me!”

“Okay, I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here,” I said, grasping her hand and guiding the toothbrush back into her mouth just as she responded with her signature plaintive _Whhhyyy?._ “A mommy and a daddy don’t need to know each other to make a baby or pass the test,” I explained.

“Why nof?”

This is the exact reason I’d been dreading a why conversation on this part of the story. In order to fully explain the situation to her, she’d need to have an understanding of the birds and the bees, and I was _sooo_ not ready for that conversation with my little girl yet. I figured I had at least another seven years of blissful innocence before I had to have that particular chat. So I told her what my parents had told me when I’d enquired about the hard topics at a young age. “I’ll explain when you’re older.”

Unsurprising she gave me the same response I’d used at her age: “But I want to know now!” although I don’t recall spraying quite so much toothpaste across the bathroom when I did it. And in the next second, she was crying, and my heart was breaking for her all over again. It had been a long day at school, and _then_ she’d had the horrible experience at dance class. She was already tired, and her emotions were close to the surface. I had been hoping we’d have a smooth transition to bedtime because of her exhaustion, but now I could see the error of my ways. Somehow, I always forgot that the combination of exhaustion and big emotions lead to a hard time getting her to sleep.

Taking the toothbrush from her hand and setting both it and my own aside, I used a damp washcloth to wipe the foam from her face and handed her a cup of water to rinse her mouth which she did on autopilot while hiccoughing and allowing frustrated tears to flow down her face. With that complete, I lifted her into my arms, a grim smile pulling at my lips as she automatically wrapped her legs around my waist and buried her face in my shoulder, tears seeping into my black t-shirt. I made shushing sounds as I rocked her gently back and forth, just as I had when she was a baby, and carried her into her bedroom, lowering us both onto her bed.

“You can still hear the rest of the rest of the story, Kenz,” I assured her. “All the details about how a baby is made and the test are just hard to understand, that’s all.”

“But I’m your smart girl,” she pointed out between sobs, pulling back to spear me with her watery gaze.

“I know you are, sweetpea,” I smiled, tucking the strands of hair that had already worked themselves loose behind her hair. “But if I tell you now, you’ll just be confused. It’s better if we wait until you’re old enough to understand.”

She sniffed and rubbed some of the tears away from her eyes, clearly not satisfied with my suggestion. “How old?”

As much as I wanted to avoid telling her about the birds and the bees forever, I knew that as a responsible parent I should inform her at some stage about the biological comings and goings of baby making, especially if I wanted to avoid becoming a grandparent prematurely. The problem was, she was asking me to put a number on it, to lay down a concrete timeframe of when I would tell her. And McKenzie Elizabeth Santos had a long memory. Knowing my luck she would recall this conversation and when the time came she would remind me that I promised to tell her about how you can make a baby with someone and not know them. I had to be strategic about this, make sure I picked an age where she would be old enough to understand, or would have already figured out the answer for herself by that point.

“Fifteen,” I eventually said, knowing that if I planned on having a sit down talk about sex and puberty it would be much sooner than that, but at least it would prevent her from remembering my promise out of the blue and demanding answers that I wasn’t mentally prepared to give.

Her eyebrows drew together. “Fifteen?” she asked, and I nodded. “How long is that?”

“Ten years,” I said easily.

She let out a groan, flopping to the side so that she was lying half on the pillow and half on my lap. “That’s too long, Daddy!” she told me. “I can’t wait that long!”

“What do we say to can’t?” I asked pointedly, reminding her of the motto that her school teacher had taught her class for when things were hard and they didn’t think they could do it.

“GET RID OF THAT ‘T’!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms and legs out wide and knocking me in the chest. 

“Well?” I prompted, shifting so I could tuck her under the covers and hopefully contain those limbs.

She sighed like it was the most soul draining thing in the world. “I _guess_ I can wait that long, but I want to know why you and mommy didn’t live together.”

Grabbing a book from the box beside the bookcase, I laid down next to her on the bed. “Like I said, Muffin-head, I didn’t know her, and because I didn’t know her, I didn’t trust her very much. I wanted to wait until we knew each other better before we lived together.”

“But why?”

“Because that’s what grown ups do before they decide to live together,” I explained. “Now, why don’t we put the mommy story on hold until tomorrow and read this new book I got at the library today.”

Her arms popped out from under the covers to cross over her chest as she glared at me, reminding me much more of my mother than her own this time. “You went to the library without me?” she accused.

“I had to, munchkin,” I explained. “The books were due back, and we didn’t have time to do it after school because of dance class.” _And I wanted to talk to that hot children’s librarian without you around,_ I added in my head. And by ‘talk’ I mean ‘flirt’ and ‘ask on a date’. I may not be the playboy I once was, but that didn’t mean I didn’t long for the company of a woman from time to time. I was much more conventional in my transgressions these days, though. I had Kenzie to consider, so I couldn’t just go out and bed the first woman that caught my eye. I had to be careful.

My little girl huffed out another sigh, but didn’t saying anything. Concerned that she was thinking about what had occurred at dance class this afternoon and was going to get upset again, I offered a treaty. “I only got the one book,” I pointed out, holding it up as evidence. “Because I think it fits well with learning about Mommy. But we can go again on the weekend so you can pick out some books.”

“The recital is this weekend,” she pointed out, calculatingly.

“We’ll go after the recital,” I said, knowing that the entire pre-recital portion of Saturday would be taken up by last minute rehearsal, hair and make-up. “And if it’s too late to go to the library after the recital, we’ll get ice cream instead, and save the library for Sunday,” I added, just in case. Contingency plans were always a good idea.

I could see the cogs turning in her head as she considered the deal. She wasn’t happy about missing out on the library today, but if she was smart – which I knew she absolutely was – she would realise that I was offering her _more_ than a simple library visit, especially if the dance recital finished after sixteen hundred hours. “Okay,” she said, pulling the book out of my hands to look at it more closely. “What’s the story?”

I relaxed, letting her hold the book for us. “What can you tell me about it from the cover?” I countered.

She moved her finger over the words, sounding them out slowly. “The… guh-err-eh-at… big… b-oo-k… off… fuh-a-mmmm-i-li-es…” She paused, her lips going through the motions again without the sound. I watched as her eyes shifted to the pictures, gathering the information to help her complete her task, then her fingers moved to cover up the g-r of ‘great’. “Eat,” she whispered to herself, and then sounded out the last word again. “ _The greet big book off families?”_ she tried.

“Good job, Kenz,” I encouraged, genuinely impressed by her accuracy. We’d been working on letter recognition and sounds for as long as I could remember and between that, her love of books, and starting school this year, she was coming along in leaps and bounds. “Very close. There’s a couple of tricky words in there. It says _The_ Great _Big Book_ of _Families._ ”

“Is mommy in here?” she asked curiously, flipping through the pages and looking at the pictures, looking for anyone who might resemble the photos on the mantle of her mother.

“No, mommy isn’t in there,” I told her. “But we might find a family like ours. Families come in all shapes and sizes.”


	13. Chapter 12

** Chapter 12 **

Present

I was halfway between my cubicle and the stairwell, keys in hand and intent on picking Kenzie up from school when my name was called across the comm.floor, halting my progress. I knew that tone. Turning on my heels, I found Bobby hurrying down the corridor between cubicles, still stashing his cell on his belt.

“Lawson. Drunken Weaver,” he stated, effectively giving me a wealth of information and re-organising my plans for the afternoon all in the space of three words.

Working at Rangeman and being in tight with the boss afforded me the flexibility I needed to give Kenzie as normal a childhood as possible. Being picked up and dropped off at school by Daddy was important to her at the moment, so I worked my schedule around that. Most days it worked, but every now and then something like this would happen at the wrong moment and the whole routine would be thrown out the window.

There was no way I could reschedule this. We’d been after Lawson for months, and every time we got near him, he vanished into thin air. And then, to make matters worse, about four weeks ago he’d disappeared off the radar completely. No one had seen hide nor hair of the guy, and time was running out on his bond, so if we didn’t hightail it over to the Drunken Weaver pub right this second, Rangeman could be thousands of dollars out of pocket.

“Kenzie,” I uttered, glancing at the clock above the elevators as Bobby reached my side. There was still twenty minutes until school ended, but I doubted we could capture Lawson and make it over in time.

“Auntie Steph to the rescue!” Steph announced, popping up from her own cubicle. In the next second, she too was racing toward me, hitching her handbag over her shoulder. She’d probably been itching for an excuse to bust free of her desk duties. No way was Ranger going to let her chase down skips with a bun in the oven. “Sounds like a Donut Date is in order.”

“Only-“ I tried to warn her, but she cut me off.

“Only one donut, yeah, yeah,” she said with a signature eye roll as she jabbed at the elevator call button. “You and Carlos both have the same rules. We’ll have our donuts – one each, I promise – stop by here to say hi to the boys, then straight up to seven for homework.”

I slung my arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Thanks, Beautiful,” I called over my shoulder as I quickly released her and ducked through the stairwell door that Bobby was holding open. “I owe you one!”

“I think that’s actually two you owe her,” Bobby pointed out as the door snicked closed behind us. “This is the second time she’s saved your ass in as many days.

I shook my head. “I’m calling yesterday a draw. She screamed at Miss Moon and I had to sweet talk the devil into letting Kenz do the recital this weekend. I need to find a new dance school.”

At the SUV, we slid into our respective seats without hesitation; communication wasn’t necessary at times like these. “That’s what you said when K-Pop had that stomach bug,” Bobby said, punching the address into the GPS while I backed out of the car space. “It’s what I’ve been saying practically since she started there.”

“I know, I know, I know,” I nodded, frustrated more at the fact that he was right than the fact that I had to knuckle down and actually find a new dance school. The problem was, every time I had time to do the research, some emergency cropped up, or they’d start working on a new dance that Kenzie was really excited about and the thought of changing schools was put on the back burner. “I should have done my research before taking her there in the first place, but it was where Phoebe learned to dance. I thought it might be a nice connection for her to have with her mother. I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

Bobby sent me a look as I paused at a stop sign, and I almost laughed. As much as he’d tried to hide it when she was around, Bobby had _never_ liked Phoebe. Not even during the brief period of time when she and I were actually getting along. He’d ben the first to dust his hands off and proclaim good riddance. And clearly, he didn’t think highly of the thought strategies that went behind my selection process if it involved Phoebe. “At least tell me she’s not going back after the recital,” he implored, checking his weapons as we approached our destination. “I will personally kick your ass into next millennium if you take her back to class next week.”

“She’s not going back,” I conceded on a sigh. “She’s not happy about it, but I don’t want to see her berated like that anymore. I’ve let it slide long enough because she has all her friends there but yelling at her because she needs to pee is the last straw. Miss Moon is lucky she didn’t wet her pants right there on the dance floor. I need to make Kenzie’s mental health a priority.”

The conversation ended there as I pulled the SUV into a space behind the Drunken Weaver and we made our way inside to get our guy. It was an easier operation than I imagined it would be after the way he’d avoided detection for so long, but by the time we arrived he was already three sheets to the wind. I doubt he even realised what was happening until we reached the copshop and he was shoved into a holding cell. Why he couldn’t have crawled out from whatever rock he’d been hiding under to get drunk and babble on about his ex-wife weeks ago I had not idea. It certainly would have saved us a lot of stress.

Typically, despite our easy capture, it was still another hour and a half before we made it back to Rangeman thanks to a break in at the jewellery store on Hamilton and our geographic location in relation to it. Like Mom always liked to say when things weren’t going her way: _It never rains, but it pours._

We didn’t bother stopping off on five to fill out a capture report or any other related paperwork, instead taking the elevator all the way to the seventh-floor penthouse and letting ourselves in. Technically, it was still Ranger’s personal domain, but he didn’t use it anywhere near as much as he used to since he and Steph moved out to what Steph dubbed “The Real Batcave” three years ago. These days it stood empty except when he was pulling all-nighters, when he and Steph snuck off for a nooner, or for family dinners, like tonight.

Steph, Ranger, Tank and Kenzie were all gathered around the kitchen island when we entered, appearing to be concentrating on something that was spread out on the counter. If it hadn’t been for my daughter’s presence I would have assumed it was some case they were analysing, trying to come up with a plan of attack, but they’d never do that with Kenzie present.

“What are we doing?” I asked, coming up behind the stool Kenzie was perched on so I could peer over her shoulder at the mess of construction paper and markers on the counter.

“Daddy!” she exclaimed, spinning around so fast that she would have fallen off the chair had she not wrapped her little arms around my neck as I grabbed her in our customary bear hug. “We’re making a family tree like in the book, but we don’t know where to put Uncle Tank.”

I looked to the man in question to find him holding a green piece of paper that was clearly supposed to be a leaf. The letters T-A-N-K had been spelled out on it in my daughter’s messing handwriting, and someone with a much steadier hand had squeezed the word ‘Uncle” just above it. Tank was staring down at the poster board where a large tree and various other named leaves apparently depicted the shape of my family. His expression was that of someone doing complex math in their head, or analysing a strategic plan for obvious faults, and I had to wonder if he was trying to figure out where to put his leaf or how to explain to a five year old that he wasn’t actually related to her despite the title that had been bestowed upon him. Another complex concept to add to the list of things Kenz would need to know in time, I guess. Just file it right beside the birds and the bees.

“What about me?” Bobby asked, wedging himself in between Tank and Ranger. “Do I get a leaf?”

Her reaction to Bobby’s presence was just as enthusiastic as it was to mine, possible even more so. She squealed and threw her hands in the air in celebration that her favourite uncle was here and then hurriedly snatched up a scrap of green paper and the safety scissors that were lying on the table in front of her, holding both out to Steph. “Can you please make another one?” she asked politely.

As Steph silently obliged, Kenzie gather a handful of markers and held them out toward Bobby, commanding him to pick what colour he wanted his name to be. His careful consideration, and accompanying monologue detailing the merits of each colour filled the entire time it took Steph to cut out a leaf shape and then Kenzie was slowly sounding out Bobby’s name as she wrote it down.

“Buh-o-Buh…” she frowned up at me as she finished sounding out without writing. “…ee… Daddy, there’s too many letters that can make the ‘ee’ sound.”

I nodded my agreement. “It’s a sneaky one, isn’t it?” I said, leaning over her shoulder once more so I could see what she’d put down so far. “We need another ‘b’,” I instructed, watching as she wrote it down. “And then a ‘y’.”

“And that’s it?” she checked.

“And that’s it,” I confirmed.

“Bobby!” she called, thrusting the leaf in his direction as she wiggled excitedly on the stool.

Bobby accepted his name leaf and scribbled ‘uncle’ onto it with the pink marker that was closest to him, then held it up in an identical fashion to how Tank was holding his. “But where are we putting it?” he asked, joining everyone else in staring down at the names already littering the tree.

“What if we make a new branch over here?” Steph suggested, tapping a small blank space with the brown maker.

I could see the logic in that suggestion. Bobby and Tank, by rights, didn’t belong on the tree at all if we were basing it purely on blood relations, which is what every other name on the tree was. But _The Great Big Book of Families_ had celebrated _all_ kinds of families and relations, and no one could deny that Tank and Bobby were part of the family. All the guys at Rangeman were her uncles, but only Bobby and Tank were included in family functions. They were important to Kenzie, so we had to find an appropriate place to put them on the tree that represented their standing in the family.

“We should put them here,” Ranger announced with his usual authority, pointing to the area between his own name and mine.

“Why there?” Kenzie asked curiously, prompting Ranger to lock eyes with me, silently requesting permission to explain the non-relation relationship situation. I just nodded. If he thought he could explain the situation in a way that she’d understand then he could go ahead. I was more than happy to pass on some of the hard topics to my cousin if he was willing. God knows I had enough of them ahead of me as it was.

With a patience I’d only ever seen him afford for the children in his life – nieces, nephews, his own daughter – Ranger explained the circumstances surrounding how the four of us had become brothers in arms. Kenzie was, of course, enthralled, because her Uncle Los-Los was telling a story, and stories were her favourite. She oh’d and ah’d in all the right places, and interrupted him with questions in a way no Rangeman employee save for Steph had ever had the guts to do. And by the time he’d finished, and we’d attached the last two leaves, Ella had snuck in, laid our meal out on the dining room table, and disappeared again, all without Kenzie noticing.

After dinner was consumed, and Kenzie’s face was washed of the gravy she’d spread across her face, we moved to the couches in the living room to play Snakes and Ladders while Steph did a much better job at braiding Kenzie’s hair than I could ever do. And inevitably, the conversation turned to Phoebe and what happened after she moved into my house.

“How did you learn to know enough about mommy that you lived with her?” Kenzie asked, watching me count out my five spaces on the board.

“We, uh, dated a bit,” I explained, eliciting snorts from the assembled adults.

Kenzie frowned at Tank, who’d been the loudest. “Why is that funny?” she enquired pointedly.

Tank gulped down a mouthful of his water, probably stalling to figure out a child friendly way to reply – now he knows what I’ve been dealing with all week. “Well, your daddy had never really dated before, Nugget,” he pointed out, rolling the dice for his own turn.

“He wasn’t very good at it,” Ranger added.

Bobby nodded. “He didn’t know how to do it at all, which made your mommy annoyed.”

Her eyes went round, mouth falling open. “Why was mommy annoyed with you, Daddy?” she whispered. “You were trying your best, weren’t you?”

“He was,” Steph assured her, leaning forward from behind Kenzie to take her turn. “But sometimes even when we try our best we can still get it wrong, and your mommy liked for things to be right _all the time_.”

“And then Daddy asked her to marry him,” Tank went on, picking up the story.

Kenzie’s eyebrows shot clear to her hairline as she looked from face to face around the coffee table before settling on me. “What did she say?” she whispered urgently.


	14. Chapter 13

** Chapter 13 **

Past

“No,” Phoebe said firmly, shaking her head emphatically as she folded the towel she’d just taken out of the drier.

I blinked, adding my own folded towel to the basket between us. Honestly, I’d contributed to more laundry folding in the last four weeks trying to get to know her than I had in my entire adult life. She’d insisted on re-washing every single sheet, towel, cloth and curtain in the house when she moved in, claiming allergies, so I’d helped where I was able, and now it seemed like every time I came over to spend time with her she was doing a load of washing. Or dishes. Or mopping. Vacuuming. Hell, even window washing. I guess the upshot was that she was proving that she wasn’t the utter slob I’d encountered at the motel the day she moved in. But it did seem excessive to be constantly cleaning the house.

“No?” I questioned. “Just like that?”

“No, not _‘just like that’_ ,” she sneered, dropping the final towel on top of the pile. “I barely know you, I’m not going to marry you just because you knocked me up.” She turned on her heel, striding away with a imperious twirl of her hand which I’d come to recognise as her way of commanding me to pick up the basket and follow.

Taking a deep breath, I grit my teeth, summoned up a calm demeanour and carried the basket out behind her. “I didn’t say we need to get married this second,” I pointed out as we entered the bathroom. “Just that we need to talk about the eventuality of marriage.”

She didn’t look at me as she grabbed the towels out of the basket and set them on the shelf. “It’s not an eventuality, Lester,” she informed me sharply. “It’s an option. If I remember the flow chart you drew for me correctly, all roads did not lead to marriage.”

“That’s true,” I conceded, following as she lead the way back out of the bathroom and into the master bedroom. “But you’re starting to show, and like it or not, there’s still a stigma around being an unmarried pregnant woman.” That wasn’t what I’d meant to say. It was true, but it wasn’t the argument I’d wanted to make to try to convince her that marrying was the right way to go. It wasn’t even the kind of statement that was going to goad her into coming clean about her ongoing divorce proceedings. Sighing, I sat on the edge of the bed while she filed her clothes away in the dresser. “I’m going to need to tell my parents soon, and they’re going to ask about our plans for marriage,” I said.

She raised a perfectly pencilled eyebrow at me in the mirror over the dresser. “Then you can tell them that I’m not ready to marry a man I don’t know just to give him the benefits of medical authority and custody over me and my child,” she pointed out, slamming one drawer shut and reefing open the next.

This woman! How had she hidden her true nature so well during that one-night stand and the interim week while we figured out paternity etc? If this was what all the women I’d slept with over the years were like, I was starting to question my tastes.

“Our child,” I corrected, trying to maintain my calm. “It takes two to tango, Pheebs.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, turning to face me straight on, her arms wrapped protectively over the small bump of her abdomen even as her gaze shot flames across the room.

 _Was all this due to pregnancy hormones? Or was she really just a bitch?_ I shook my head to dispel the thought. Thinking like that would never allow me to get into her good graces. If I was going to step up and be the responsible father for this child, I needed to start with the mother. Even if it meant bending and scraping a little.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just think we need to talk about the future. I’d hate for something to happen to you or the baby and not be able to do anything about it because, in the eyes of the law, I have not authority as a mere sperm donor. The marriage is more than just to assign me rights as the father. It’s for your protection as well.”

She said nothing for a long moment, just staring at me, and breathing slowly deliberately. She seemed to be debating with herself on something big, and I was pretty sure I could guess what. The problem was, should I put us both out of our misery and bring her deception into the light, or should I continue to wait her out?

The guys had been urging me to hang her out to dry from the second they found out she was married. They saw her deception as lies and betrayal and maintained that Phoebe was the least trustworthy person in the world, which was saying something given the kinds of people we encountered in our line of work. And while I was inclined to agree with them to a point, I couldn’t deny my role in the situation. I habitually bedded women without learning about their history, content to believe what I saw and what I heard. I had my rules but given these latest developments I was beginning to question my methods of ensuring I stuck by them. Was Phoebe the first married woman I’d slept with?

I thought of my parents, and what they would say if they knew. They were already at odds with my chosen lifestyle and I didn’t relish the idea of their deepening disappointment. I’d prefer to have concrete answers about my plan for proving I was more than just some serial ladies man before I revealed to them the fact that they were due to become grandparents. I knew what I wanted to do, but Phoebe was making it real hard.

As she finally returned to putting the last of her clothes away, I heaved myself to my feet and walked slowly to the sliding glass door that lead out to the backyard. How many hours had I spent staring out at this view over the years? It usually brought me such comfort to be in the quiet stillness of my home, but that was gone now. Phoebe’s presence was a disturbance in the force and would continue to grate on me until such a time as we could be honest with each other.

The sooner the better.

“I know about your husband,” I said into the ambient quiet that had settled over the room. My voice was quiet, controlled, void of emotions, but it sounded like a shout inside my head. Maybe because I’d been mentally yelling the words at her every time we met for the last month.

The sounds of Phoebe’s movement behind me as she tidied the already spotless room ceased. What I wouldn’t give to see the look on her face right now, to see the expression of horror, surprise, shock cover her features, but I’d sprung for the anti-reflection windows, so the only way I’d be able to witness her unravelling calm would be to turn around and face her.

Long moments passed and neither of us moved. I was barely even breathing, waiting for her reaction. Eventually, the soft rustle of fabric alerted me to the fact that she was on the move, the plastic laundry basket clattered to the ground and the rustling increased as she sank down onto the bed. “Ex-husband,” she wheezed.

“ _Soon to be_ ex-husband,” I corrected, still not turning around. “Your divorce isn’t finalised yet.”

*o*

Barely able to contain the rage swirling inside me, I stormed into the third-floor gym like a hurricane spoiling for a fight. Bypassing the various machines and even the punching bags, I made a bee line for the doors on the other side of the room that lead to the sparring area. I didn’t pause, or look around, just kicked off my shoes, tossed my keys and wallet aside, slammed my fist into Woody’s jaw and stepped onto the mats, beckoning for him to follow. Before I could make it to the middle of the soft floor, though, Hank and Tank were on either side of me, each grabbing a bicep as they strong armed me back toward the door.

“No, you don’t,” Tank rumbled as he kicked his way through to the gym proper.

“Not again,” Hank added.

“I just need to blow off some steam,” I gritted out, though I couldn’t find it in me to struggle against their hold. Now that I had a second to step back (metaphorically of course) I realised that punching Woody unprovoked probably wasn’t the best way to request a sparring session.

Hank shook his head as they dragged me down the hall. “I still have bruised ribs from the last time you needed to blow off steam,” he pointed out. “Try talking about your issues.”

And with that they shoved me through the door to Bobby’s medical suite. The man himself was at a cabinet on the far side of the space, reaching for an item on the top shelf. He froze when I barrelled through the door, slowly turning his head to stare at me. I just stood there, fuming, allowing him to take in every inch of the volatile bomb Tank and Hank had just lobbed into his office.

“I take it your morning with Phoebe didn’t go well?” he asked, turning his attention back to the container as his hand closed around it. I hated that he trusted me so much not to lose control even when I was in such a state. I wanted wary. I wanted guarded. I wanted a fucking fist to the gut so that I could at least explain away the pain already radiating there.

“She agreed to marry me,” I growled.

He nodded. That had been the objective for me going to see her today, so it came as no surprise to him. He knew better than to assume success by my words alone, though. Anyone faced with the mass of my fury would have been stupid to believe I’d merely achieved my desired outcome. He set the box on the counter and turned to face me again. “Buuut…?”

“Well obviously there’s the minor inconvenience of her still being married to her husband,” I snapped.

“Right,” he agreed. “But we already knew about that.”

I kicked the leg of the exam table just to expend some energy. “And now _she_ knows I know about it.”

His body language was carefully calm, but I could see the way his eyes were constantly roving, assessing not only my physical state, but any sign that my mental state was about to come to a head and cause me to snap. Leaning his hip against the counter, he folded his arms over his chest. “So… progress?” he tried to cajole.

“If you call the fact that she used me as a glorified sperm donor progress, then _sure!”_ I bit out.

That got his attention. He said nothing as his professionally blank expression slammed into place, marred only by the twitch of his jaw.

“She wasn’t just out randomly cheating on the guy,” I explained agitatedly as I commenced pacing like a caged tiger. “She was deliberately sleeping with men that bore a vague resemblance to her husband in order to get pregnant! Apparently, she wanted a baby more than anything in the world, but her husband didn’t want kids, so she decided to take matters into her own hands.”

“That bitch,” Bobby muttered.

Understatement of the year as far as I was concerned, but I continued on as if he’d said nothing. “She slept with me, sabotaged my fucking condom, got herself pregnant, and when she revealed the _happy news_ to her husband, he _knew_ it wasn’t his. He KNEW that she’d cheated on him BECAUSE HE’S FUCKING STERILE!” I yelled the last, punching the nearest cabinet door, barely registering the pain in my knuckles as the wood splintered around my hand.

Bobby didn’t move, despite the fact that I knew every fibre of his being wanted to check my hand for splinters and wounds. I was too worked up for him to get any closer than he already was without receiving that same fist to any part of his body that happened to come within range. “So that’s why he kicked her out?”

I stopped in my tracks, throwing my arms wide. “I can’t say I blame him!” I exclaimed, probably my face was an ugly shade of maroon from all this yelling, but I couldn’t care less at this point. “I’m this close to kicking her out myself!” I added, holding up my thumb and forefinger less than a centimetre apart. If it weren’t for the fact that I was worried she’d disappear if she had to leave, I’d have done so, but I couldn’t let her drop out of my life as suddenly as she’d dropped into it. I may not have been planning on becoming a parent any time soon – if ever – but I couldn’t deny the sense of duty I felt toward the life I’d set in motion. I had to protect it. I had to prove I was the man my parents had raised, even if that meant being unhappily married to a devil of a woman to do it.

“Shit man,” he breathed. “I’m sorry. That’s fucked up.”

“Tell me about it!” I agreed.”

“So, what happens now?”

And just like that, all the wind left my sails on the sound of a groan as I collapsed onto the exam table, face down. “I don’t know, man,” I moaned. “It’s so much worse than I thought.”

He sounded like he was smirking as he plopped down into his desk chair. “Regretting not running that full background check, now?”

“Majorly,” I said, flipping my head to the side so I could glare at him. “But she was angry enough about me ‘spying on her life.’ I can’t imagine what she would have been like if I’d figured out all those details she threw at me.”

He shook his head. “She had no right to be upset after what she did,” he assured me kicking his feet up on the desk and unwrapping one of the lollipops he kept in the drawer for when he had to treat Steph. “How did you get her to confess it all and _then_ agree to marry you, though?”

I scoffed. “Apparently the guilt was eating her alive,” I explained, recalling how she’d burst into tears midway through the story. I couldn’t bring myself to comfort her, not with the pain radiating through me from my twisted gut, but thoughts of my parents had prompted me to ask her about marriage again. The surprise of her changed answer barely registered as I fought to maintain my cool, collected exterior.

_“Once the divorce goes through, we’ll have a civil ceremony at the courthouse,” I’d told her. “I’ll arrange it all, you just let me know when, and think about who you want as your witness.” I paused, jaw clenched as I stared at her shrunken form, curled on the bed. “You must be tired; I’ll let myself out. I’ll call you tomorrow, I know you said your parents don’t want anything to do with your or the baby, but we’ll need to tell mine before too long.”_

And with that I’d let myself out of my house, making sure to lock and alarm it behind me, and drove like a bat out of hell back to Rangeman where my friends hadn’t even afforded me the leisure of beating the shit out of something to get my anger out.

“Right,” Bobby said thoughtfully. “Well, being a self-centred bitch’ll do that to you.”

Like always, he knew just what to say to slap me out of the dark place I’d found inside my head. I let out a bark of laughter, flipping onto my back. “How dare you!” I accused. “That’s my future wife you’re talking about!”


	15. Chapter 14

** Chapter 14 **

Present

The words were barely out of Kenzie’s mouth before she was crawling off Steph’s lap, across Ranger’s to mine. “What did mommy say when you asked her to marry you, Daddy?” she insisted, grabbing my face in her little has so I couldn’t get away. The curiosity was strong with this one.

“She said yes,” I assured her, mimicking her posture by laying my own hands on either side of her head. It took a while to convince her to say yes, but she did say yes.”

“Eventually,” Ranger added, revealing the facts that I’d thought to keep under wraps with a sly grin and reaching over to poke his niece in the ribs.

Kenzie’s eyes went wide as she swivelled her head to stare at him, jerking mine along with her. “Eventually?”

I gave Ranger a look over top of her head, waring that he had better have an appropriate response to all the follow up question that were bound to come his way. As always, though, my glare had no effect on my older cousin. He was too hardened to let it change his course. If this blew up in my face you can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll be teaching his new child the most annoying habits I knew when he or she was old enough.

“The first time Daddy asked, mommy said no,” Ranger explained, accepting my daughter into his arms when she reached out to him, eager to be closer to the source of her current story. “She wasn’t very nice about it either.”

She gasped loudly, and might not have been the only one. I know I was shocked by the revelation and by the way Steph was staring at her husband, it was a safe bet that she hadn’t been expecting those words to leave Ranger’s mouth either. We all knew Phoebe was a royal cow, but I thought we’d come to an unspoken agreement to keep such opinions of character out of Kenzie’s head. She didn’t need to know that her mother was selfish, and self-centred, and catty, and bossy, and all the other negative traits she’d displayed in the two years she was an active overlord in my life. She just needed to know that her mother loved her.

I grit my teeth and started making a mental list of all the things I knew would piss Ranger off.

“Mommy was mean?” Kenzie asked, looking up at Ranger with the little worry line creasing her forehead.

Ranger shook his head, using the arm that was wrapped around Kenzie’s back so she wouldn’t fall off his lap to give her a quick, reassuring side-hug. “I don’t think she meant to be,” he explained, handing her the dice so she could roll for him and moving his counter on the board. “She was just scared.”

“Scared of what?” Kenzie enquired, and I had to say, I was also curious about where Ranger was going with the storyline. “Scared of Daddy?” she demanded. “My daddy is not a meanie. He’s not scary. He’s nice. He puts smiley faces on my pancakes!”

“She wasn’t scared of Daddy,” Ranger said firmly. Glancing at his wife, he added with a hint of a smile, “She was too headstrong for that. But she _was_ afraid of what Daddy would think of her if she told him the truth.”

Kenzie almost fell off his lap despite the securing arm around her as her hands shot out in opposite directions. “SHE LIED?!” she yelled, her voice cracking as it rose an octave above where it usually sat. “My mommy was a MEANIE LIAR?!!”

All eyes in the room were glaring at Ranger, including Kenzie’s which, I noted, were now brimming with tears. He had better start talking fast to set this right or I’d be calling _his_ ass to the mats for a change. No one liked to see their child upset, me especially, especially when it was because of careless truths about her mother.

“She didn’t lie, Kenzie-boo,” Steph assured her, swiping away a tear that threatened to slide down Kenzie’s cheek while subtly elbowing Ranger in the ribs. “She just didn’t tell Daddy everything when they first met, right Carlos?” The last words were added with a pointed glare and another jab of her elbow.

“Right,” Ranger agreed dutifully, nodding for emphasis. He’d learned early on when it was best to submit to Steph’s authority over the years, and while we’d all ridiculed him for it the beginning, after having my own matrimonial experience, I could say with confidence that sometimes it was better for all parties involved to just agree and follow along. It just wasn’t worth enduring residual ire. Not that I thought Steph and Ranger fought the same way Phoebe and I had, but they were only human. Disagreements were inevitable. And to be fair, unlike Phoebe who just wanted things to go her way all the time, Steph usually had a good point to make if she was insisting Ranger take her side.

“She kept a secret from me,” I said, drawing my daughters watery gaze. “And you know how I feel about secrets.”

A moist sniff filled the air as she nodded, probably remembering the time she’d accidentally broken a picture frame while playing in the livin groom and then hidden it so that I wouldn’t get mad at her over it. Ultimately, I didn’t care about the frame, it was just a thing that held up a photo that prompted a happy memory. What I _had_ been upset about – not angry, but disappointed and concerned – was the fact that she had hidden it from me. We’d had a very long chat about the importance of being honest, and I’d made it abundantly clear that secret keeping was not something she should make a habit of.

“You don’t like secrets,” she muttered.

“Exactly,” I agreed. “And mommy’s secret was a _big_ one.”

I could tell she was itching to know the secret her mother had kept from me, and in time she absolutely had the right to know. But I was once again reminded of the fact that my little girl was only five years old, and there was still so much about the twisted, jaded world for her to discover. I wanted to protect her from it for as long as I could, which means I had to skate near enough to the truth that she wouldn’t accuse me of lying to her when she eventually found out about Phoebe’s first husband.

Locking eyes with Steph over Kenzie’s head, and receiving an encouraging nod, I took a breath and plunged in. “Mommy had a legal obligation which meant she couldn’t marry me straight away,” I explained, knowing that it wasn’t the simplest wording I could have chosen. Before I could correct myself though, Bobby was already on it.

“She wasn’t allowed to marry Daddy because of the law,” he chipped in, noting the instant confusion on her face. “The country’s big rules.”

Nodding that Bobby’s explanation was correct when her wide green eyes returned their attention to me, I continued, “And she was afraid that I would be angry at her about it, so she didn’t tell me.”

“But Daddy found out about it,” Steph put in solemnly.

Once again crawling into my lap, Kenzie asked in that tiny voice she got whenever she’d done the wrong thing, “Were you mad?” I could tell she was worried. She didn’t like it when I got angry, even when it wasn’t at her – though I did try to remain calm and not let my anger show where she was concerned.

“A little,” I acknowledged, ignoring the round of eye rolls from the others at my gross understatement. “But I was mostly hurt that she didn’t tell me.”

“What did you do?”

By now, the board game was all but forgotten on the coffee table, everyone’s attention having been channelled into the story of Kenzie’s mother. It felt right to be sharing this event with them all, as we’d shared all events in Kenzie’s short life so far, but at the same time it was a lot more nerve-racking not being able to control everything that she learned. As Ranger had already proved, we didn’t all have the same editing standards for this particular story. It was probably best if I took back the reins.

Wrapping my arms around her waist, I dragged her closer that her back was leaning against my chest, and I could rest my chin on the tip of her head. The position reminded, acutely, of how she would sit with her teddy while watching Saturday morning cartoons.

I tried to give her time to tell me,” I sighed. “but she didn’t, so I told her I knew. We talked about it. We both got upset. And then we agreed that when she was allowed to marry me, we would get married.”

Slowly, Kenzie twisted her upper body around so she could peer at me face, eyes narrowed. “And _then_ they lived happily ever after?” she questioned cautiously.

I smiled softly. So eager for a happy ending wrapped up in a nice bow. How devastated would she be to find out that my happily ever after started the day her mother died?

“Still a while off yet, Muffin-head,” I told her with a kiss on the forehead. “Now let’s get me home to bed.” Faking a wide yawn and a stretch, I leaned my head heavily on her shoulder, and added, “I’m tiiiiired. Maybe you can tuck _me_ in tonight and tell _me_ a bedtime story.”

*o*

“When you married mommy, did she wear a big, beautiful, white dress?” Kenzie asked, slopping milk onto the table as she waved her spoon around like a fairy godmother conjuring a gown and accidentally knocking her bowl of cereal.

I’d been fielding questions about the wedding almost since the second she’d bounded out of bed this morning. She wanted to know all the details, and I got the impression she was envisioning a fantastical ceremony with glitter and smiles and dancing, like in those wretched princess movies she’d watched with Tank. It was all I could do not to roll my eyes as I attempted to make the courthouse ceremony sound as exciting as possible.

“It wasn’t big,” I said thoughtfully, layering sliced ham and lettuce on the sandwich I was preparing for her lunch. “But it was pretty, and mostly white.”

“Mostly white?” she questioned, stuffing another spoonful of cornflakes into her mouth.

Cutting the sandwich in half and setting it in her lunchbox, I gestured to my chest with a swirly motion. “It was white at the top,” I explained. “And white with purple flowers at the bottom.” I moved my hands lower, continuing the swirling motion. “And _you_ , little munchkin, made your mommy’s belly stick out to _here_ ,” I added holding my hands a modest distance from my abs.

“Woah,” she breathed. “Did she wear pretty shoes? Tall ones like the ones Auntie Steph wears when she’s being fancy?”

I shook my head. “No. Because you were so big and heavy, it hurt her feet to wear tall shoes like that. She wore…” I wracked my brain trying to remember what they looked like. They had a buckle, I knew that much, because I’d been the one to buckle them since she couldn’t reach. “You know what, Muffin, I don’t remember properly, but I think they might have been sandals.”

Kenzie nodded that she understood while chewing and swallowing her latest mouthful. “Do you have pictures? Auntie Steph and Uncle Los-Los have _lots_ of pictures from their wedding. And they have a DVD too. Do you have a DVD of you and mommy getting married? Can we watch it?” She slurped up some milk but didn’t let it slow down the inquisition. “How did mommy have her hair? Did she wear a tiara? What about her ring?”

Adding an apple, and one of Ella’s healthy chocolate muffins to the lunch box, closed it up and tucked into her backpack sitting on the chair next to her. “There’s no DVD,” I informed her, tucking a strand of hair back behind her hair and securing it with the clip already sitting there from my previous attempts to tidy up the braid Steph had done last night. “But there are a couple of photos, which we can look at-“ I hoisted her out of the chair and set her on her feet as she finished her milk. “-after school. Now go get your shoes on before we’re late.”

“Yes, sir!” she asserted, giving me a mock salute and stomp-marching down the hall the mud room.

I took a moment to rinse her bowl and stack it in the dishwasher, and wipe down the table before lifting the backpack onto my shoulder, rolling up the family tree that had luckily escaped being enthusiastically milk sprinkled, and following the way my daughter had gone. “Let’s go, Muffin-head,” I instructed, noting that her shoes were already tied and handing her the bag and poster. “School for you.” I picked up my iPad and the file I’d brought home to study. “Work for me. And this afternoon, Abuela and Bo-Bo will be here.”

“Can they pick me up from school?” Kenzie begged, bounding through the door to the garage and climbing into the back seat. “Please, Daddy?”

I smiled, tucking my items into the front before ensuring she was properly buckled into her booster seat. “If they get here in time I’m sure they’d be happy to,” I assured her, and climbed in behind the wheel to the tune of excited, high pitched squeals.


	16. Chapter 15

** Chapter 15 **

Past

Sitting in my SUV at the curb of the house I had paid for with my own hard earned savings, the house that had been my place to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist for so many years, I couldn’t help but acknowledge how it was now so foreign that it that it made me feel like I’d fallen down a rabbit hole into some subverted version of Alice’s Wonderland every time I stepped foot inside the door. The woman living in it now had disrupted the zen-like flow I’d achieved there so badly that the second I entered my guard was up and I was plunged into a survival mode so heightened that it rivalled the zone I fell into on government missions. At this point, I avoided it as much as possible, preferring to meet on neutral ground in public, which had the added benefit of putting a plug in any arguments that may have occurred in the privacy of my house that was definitely not my home at the moment.

Rolling my shoulders to get rid off the tension building there, I shifted my gaze from the house to the car that sat in the driveway. It wasn’t Phoebe’s, that much I knew from the comprehensive file I’d put together on her after learning the true background to this whole debacle. Phoebe owned only one car, though she occasionally made use of a company car for work purposes. This slick sports car was neither of those.

I blew out a breath, trying to find that tranquil zone I’d perfected in the military, but recently it had proved itself more difficult to achieve than trying to catch smoke with a butterfly net. Now was no different. Ever since Phoebe had waltzed back into my life, uttering those two fatal words and sealing my fate forever, I’d been a ball of barely contained rage. Even in my calmest, most quiet moments I could feel it simmering just below the surface, just one wrong word away from snapping and going on a rampage. The only thing that had given me even a modicum of relief in the past few weeks was sparring in the gym, and even that was losing it’s effect. Not least because the other guys had started refusing to step onto the mats with me. Cowards.

As I watched, the front door swung open, drawing my attention, and a man in a dark grey suit stepped out onto the porched, a briefcase in hand. Her lawyer, then, I surmised, taking in his appearance and the way he held himself. Had to be her lawyer. I was almost certain I could smell the legal jargon and loophole detection ointment slathering his skin even from this distance. Until, of course, Phoebe stepped out behind him, allowing herself to be dragged into his chest by a firm grip on her ass, and they proceeded to shove their tongues down the other’s throat.

A red haze descended over my view as my heart beat rapidly in my hears. That is _not_ how you thank your lawyer for their hard work on your case, no matter how grateful you are. My fists clenched, white knuckled, on the steering wheel as they eventually broke apart and she sent him on his merry way with a farewell slap on the ass. She watched him slide into the front seat of his low slung car and drive off before turning her attention to me, raising her pointer finger in the universal signal for ‘one moment please’ and disappeared back inside.

The second she was out of sight I thumped my fist against the dashboard just to vent some of the anger welling inside me. It was white hot, searing in the pit of my stomach and leaving a trail of wildfire through my limbs as it coursed through my veins. This was the absolute last thing I needed to deal with today.

I had to believe that she’d orchestrated this scene to get to me. She knew what I was planning to pick her up, and what time we had to be at my parents’ house. Whatever it was I’d just witnessed was Phoebe flipping me the bird because she was pissed at me for refusing to sleep with her last week. She didn’t seem to understand that I was still fuming from learning the full extent to which she’d tried to use me, and that just because I had a history of sleeping with anything that moves doesn’t mean I can just tuck my trust issues into my back pocket and forget about them long enough to get our mutual rocks off.

I sucked in a deep breath though clenched teeth as she returned to the porch, shoes on her feet and her purse slung over her shoulder. She turned to lock up, treating me to an unobstructed view of the way her jeans hugged her ass and I cursed the fact that even when I was furious with her, and acutely conscious of her deceptions and betrayals, my dick still twitched with interest.

Another deep breath and I managed to shut down my emotions just as she was sliding into the passenger seat beside me.

“Who was that?” I questioned, trying for a mildly curious tone as I nodded toward the driveway.

She shrugged, stashed her purse on the floor and dragged the seatbelt down to buckle up. “A friend.”

“Are you fucking him?” I hadn’t meant to ask it so bluntly. I’d meant to glean the information from a calm and rational conversation. Clearly, calm and rational were not words I could accurately apply to myself at the moment.

“Someone had to,” she pointed out, like it was obvious.

I cut my eyes to her. “Someone had to fuck him?”

She snorted like she thought what I’d said was funny. “No,” she assured me, laying a hand on my thigh and squeezing provocatively. “Someone had to fuck _me_. I have _needs_ , Lester, and if you’re not going to meet them, I figured someone else could.”

Bile rose in my throat as I stared straight into those same sultry eyes that had drawn me in four months ago. How any man could have willingly chosen to spend his life with this woman was a mystery. She was demanding, and mulish with very little regard for other’s feelings. She’d put on a good show to lure me in, and had played the distressed accidental mother-to-be perfectly when she’d sought me out later, but ever since the truth had come out, the gloves had come off, treating me to her true, nauseating colours. Colours that would be a part of my life for the rest of it’s duration, I realised.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t commit adultery in my house,” I seethed, averting my attention to the street as I turned on the car and pulled away from the curb. If we didn’t leave now we’d be late to dinner, and while my mother was far more lenient than the likes of Helen Plum when it came to the evening meal, I knew that every second that ticked by after the time I said I’d arrive wound the threads of worry in her chest just a little tighter, and I hated making her feel that way.

Phoebe shifted in her seat, retracting her hand and tucking it under her arm as she crossed them over her chest. _Here we go…_ “As my landlord, you have no say in who I invite to my place of residence,” she informed me primly.

I mentally rolled my eyes that she thought her knowledge of rental agreements could provide an adequate defence in the current circumstances. “I’m not your landlord,” I pointed out. “You’re not paying rent.”

“We also don’t have a written contract prohibiting visitors to the house,” she shot back. “Hell, we don’t even have a verbal agreement.”

“You can have visitors, Phoebe,” I informed her exasperatedly. “I’m not a heartless bastard.” – _unlike you_ , I added silently. “The point is you’re technically still married to your ex, and I’d prefer if you kept acts of infidelity out of my house.”

I’d already sacrificed my sanctuary to the disturbance she’d wrought on my life, the least she could do was respect the generosity I’d offered by not violating the space with other men.

“I’m not going to abstain from sex until my divorce goes through,” Phoebe erupted, releasing her arms and allowing them to flop into her lap. “Do you know what the pregnancy hormones are doing to my body?” Out of the corner of my eye I watched her left hand inch between her thighs as the right snaked up her slightly rounded stomach to her breast. “I’m horny _all the time_ ,” she moaned.

I considered if I should perhaps take up yoga with all the deep breathing I was doing to try maintain my centre as my jeans tightened inextricably. Working out certainly wasn’t doing the trick anymore, and my usual sexual outlet didn’t appeal. I’d made a commitment to Phoebe. She was, for all intents and purposes, my fiancée, and I’d be damned if I would stoop to the same lowly levels she was by cheating on her.

“We’ll discuss this after dinner,” I said, steering us onto the interstate even as I dug a hand into my pocket. Pulling it out again, I held my closed first out to her, waiting until she’d raised her hands before opening it, revealing the simple engagement ring I’d picked up at the mall the previous day. “Put this on.”

Her touch was feather light as she plucked it from my hand. “What a romantic proposal,” she said sarcastically, slipping it onto her left ring finger and holding it up to inspect the setting.

“You already agreed to marry me,” I pointed out.

“Somehow, I don’t think referring to the time you revealed that you’d been digging in my personal history is an adequate argument for your level of romantic gesture,” Phoebe drawled.

I shook my head, flexing my fingers on the wheel. “If you recall, you also revealed that you had forced me into impregnating you while cheating on your husband,” I said calmly. “Forgive me for not getting down on one knee and waxing poetic about my non-existent love for you.” She said nothing, which was probably for the best, because I was teetering on the edge of my control. After a moment and another deep breath, I said, “We need to talk about what we’re telling my parents.”


	17. Chapter 16

** Chapter 16 **

Past

By the time we’d arrived at my parents’ house I was much calmer than when we’d left Trenton. We’d come to an agreement about how much information about our situation to divulge and then, blissfully, sat in silence for the rest of the house long drive. I’d managed to find my zone and tune out everything but the road ahead of me and the thought of the roast my mother had promised. I let us in with my standard “Knock, knock!” call out before leading Phoebe through the hall to the kitchen where Mama and Dad were both puttering around companionably. One of the things I loved most about my parents was that they shared every responsibility when it came to the household and genuinely seemed to enjoy spending time together while doing it.

“Hola, Mama,” I greeted, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing an affectionate kiss to her cheek. She smiled and leaned into my embrace but didn’t remove her hands from the salad she was tossing. “Dad,” I added with a nod as my father turned away from the oven with a hot tray of meat in hand. He nodded, wagging an elbow in a kind of wave as he passed. “I’d like you to meet Phoebe,” I said once Dad had set down the tray and I had both their attention. “Phoebe, this is my mother Liliana, and my father Roberto.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Phoebe said, perfectly polite as she offered her right hand to my father to shake. It was good to know that she was at least still capable of showing respect. I was starting to think she’d lost the ability some time in the last month. Must just be me she doesn’t care for.

Rather than accept the offered hand, Dad picked up her left with both of his, eyeing the ring settled there before cutting his eyes first to me, then Mama. After what felt like an eternity, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, lowered the hand back to her side and sent her a warm smile that barely covered the tension around his eyes. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, dear,” he said, eyes flicking up and down her figure before cutting to me once more. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s tradition that father and son set the table while mother finishes up preparing the meal,” he added, picking up the stack of plates from the counter and heading through the door to the dining room. I had no choice but to follow with the cutlery and glasses.

Dad was silent as he set out the four plates, but I didn’t miss the way his eyes followed my movements as I trailed behind him laying down the forks and knives. I should have known better than to assume I could pull the wool over my parents’ eyes. They’d raised me, watched me grow. They knew exactly the kind of person I was and how I was likely to act. Bringing a woman to dinner was out of character for me and would have set their suspicions on edge to begin with. The ring and the shape of Phoebe’s abdomen would have confirmed them. Obviously, I’d been planning on telling them tonight, otherwise I wouldn’t have brought Phoebe with me, but I’d hoped we could have least made it to the dinner table before I brought it up.

“She’s my fiancée,” I admitted once we were both stood at the far end of the room, away from the kitchen. I hated that he could get me to talk without saying a word, but I also felt like I owed him the truth. I’d caused him too much worry over the years to not admit to my mistakes now. “We met four months ago at a club, had one night together and I thought I’d never see her again. She sought me out about a month ago. She’d pregnant. We did a paternity test, and it turns out I’m the father. I’ve asked her to marry me, but we won’t be able to until her divorce is finalised.”

He just shook his head, staring at me with that familiar fatherly disappointment. He’d never approved of my coping methods and now all I’d done was prove why he was right. “I thought you had rules,” he commented quietly.

I nodded. “She, uh, wasn’t honest with me,” I said, averting my gaze to the vase of flowers in the centre of the table as my chest constricted. “Look, Dad, I’m sorry it happened this way, but I’m trying to make it right. I’m trying to do right by her and the baby. Her own parents disowned her.”

Shaking his head again, he just dragged me into a hug, squeezing the back of my neck in that weird mix of comforting and threatening that he’d perfected over the years. “You’ll tell me the full story later,” he informed me as he released his hold on me. “Right now, I think it’s important that we make her feel welcome and let her know that the support is here if she needs it, sí?”

He didn’t wait for my reply, just clapped me on the back and strode back through to the kitchen. Once again, I had no choice but to follow. I could only hope that Phoebe had behaved herself while I was out of the room.

As it turns out, the conversation Mama and Phoebe were having in the kitchen must have taken a similar vein to the one I’d had with Dad in the dining room, because when I entered Phoebe was explaining about how her morning sickness was finally starting to ease, and that I’d been surprisingly supportive of her throughout the whole situation, given how it had started.

“We’re not fond of his habits,” Mama agreed with a solemn nod, passing Dad a bowl of potatoes and the gravy boat. “But at least he didn’t ignore everything we taught him about integrity and respect. I’m glad he’s treating you well.” She sent me a small smile, pointing to the other plates and bowls of food on the counter as an indication that I should help transfer it to the table. “I know you said you’ve agreed to marry Lester, but you didn’t mention when that would be happening,” Mama added, causing me to fumble the salad bowl as I lifted it. “Can we expect it to be soon? You’re already quite far along, I assume you want to get it done before it becomes too noticeable.”

It turned away from the counter in time to catch Phoebe’s wide-eyed gaze darting over to me. We’d decided in the car that we would avoid mentioning her divorce if it was at all possible. I’d already broken that agreement by telling my father, because he had a way of squeezing the truth out of me without even trying, but I wasn’t sure Phoebe would consent to having the information out in the open at this time. I should have known that the question of when would come up and planned a response ahead of time, but all my energies had been focused on not losing my temper after the display Phoebe had subjected me to when I picked her up.

“We barely know each other, Mama,” I pointed out, trying for a nonchalant tone despite the way my heart was pounding in my chest. “Give us a break.”

“But you know the stigma that surrounds an unwed mother-to-be, Lester,” Mama pointed out. “The sooner you get it done the better. You have the rest of you lives to get to know each other.”

I stifled a groan. I liked to think of my parents as modern and open-minded people, but apparently there were still some old-fashioned views lurking in the corners of their minds. Luckily, it was Dad that spoke up in our defence. “There’s legal hoops to jump through, Lili,” he said, re-entering the kitchen after depositing his dishes in the other room. “Don’t you remember all the hoops? And they’ll need a pre-nup first.”

Phoebe and I both nodded in agreement - possibly the only thing we’d agreed on since she moved into my house – but Mama was like a dog with a bone. “There’s not that many hoops,” she countered, pressing the last of the serving trays into Dad’s hands and practically shoving him toward the dining room as she gestured for us all to follow suit. “You apply for the license and wait three days. Of course, get the pre-nup first, but you have access to the finest lawyers working for your cousin, it shouldn’t be that big a deal.”

I met Phoebe’s gaze over the table as we sat down, trying to gauge how she felt about the possibility of revealing more than we’d originally agreed to as the familiar ritual of passing dishes began. It was hard to concentrate on the vibes Phoebe was sending out into the air, though, with my father’s eyes boring into the side of my head, accompanying the waves of tension rolling off his body.

“There’s more than the usual legal red tape, Mama,” I said slowly, receiving a slight nod from both Phoebe and Dad.

Mama froze, staring at me with a potato held aloft over her plate. “What do mean?” she asked quietly, curiously, but with that little niggling note of tension in her voice.

“Phoebe is-“

“I’ll do it,” Phoebe said, gently. “It’s my mistake. I should be the one to admit to it.” She waited until Mama’s gaze had turned to her before starting to explain a version of the truth. “I’m waiting for my divorce to go through before I can marry Lester,” she explained, receiving a shocked gasp from my mother. She didn’t give her a chance to say anything, though, pressing on to get it all out in one hit. “Four months ago, I had a fight with my husband, and I went out to a club with the intention of cheating on him. That’s when I met Lester. We, uh, had a night together, and a few weeks later I found out I was pregnant. I was scared, because I knew it wasn’t my husband’s. We hadn’t slept together in months. Eventually, I confessed to my sins and he insisted we couldn’t stay married knowing what I’d done. We filed for divorce almost immediately, and that’s when I went and found Lester again. I knew I would struggle as a single mother and that he had the right to know he was fathering a child.” She paused, taking a deep breath, and staring down at her hands. “I’m very fortunate that Lester has been so understanding and supportive given the circumstances. But as you can see, as much as I agree it’s a good idea to get it done as quickly as possible, we can’t marry until I have officially divorced my husband.”

There was silence around the table following her explanation. I wanted to gag at the cloying sweetness of it, the way she spun it in just the right way to ensure they would understand the truth of the matter while also not garnering too much hate from them. I wanted to shout the details she’d left out from the rooftops even if it meant admitting that I’d been played for a fool. Instead, I just spooned stewed apples on top of my pork and passed the bowl to my father.

“Right,” Mama uttered, finally lowering the potato onto her plate and setting the tongs aside. The tension that had been wafting from my father’s end of the table was now mirrored on my mother’s end and I wished I could say or do something to make it better, but anything I had to add to the explanation they’d just heard would only sour the situation further. “Well,” she went on, with a valiant effort to plaster a smile on her face, even if it didn’t venture anywhere near her eyes. “Let’s talk about something else for the time being, shall we? Lester, how has work been? You haven’t gotten shot or stabbed recently?”

And so the rest of the evening ensued, delicately avoiding the topic of Phoebe’s divorce, or our eventual marriage. We even skirted around talk of the pregnancy and baby. I could tell my mother wanted to talk to be about it, to grab me by the ear and drag me up to my old bedroom on the second floor and rail at me for letting myself get into a situation like this. But she didn’t. She played the part of the gracious host as perfectly as she always had and made an effort to show respect even though I was pretty sure she wanted to wrench Phoebe’s head back and whisper thinly veiled threats in her ear.

I shuddered. Yeah, she could be that scary when she was pissed off.

I hugged my mother while Phoebe slipped her arms into her jacket, preparing to leave. “Thank you for dinner,” I said in a way I hoped conveyed that I was thanking her for more than just the beautiful meal she and Dad had prepared. I’d put her through too much stress and worry already, and this just added to the strain. “I have Tuesday off, so I thought I’d come over and help Dad finally fix that creaky stair,” I added as a peace offering, knowing she’d want to discuss this in detail without Phoebe present.

Gently tapping her hands on my cheek, she smiled almost sadly, making my heart twist a little more. “Take care, mijo,” she murmured, using her grip on my face to drag me down so she could press a lingering kiss to my forehead. “And don’t stress. It’ll all work out exactly as it was meant to.”

I nodded, squeezing her once more and stepping back so that I could say goodbye to Dad as well. He said nothing except to remind me to bring my tool kit with the good hammer before releasing me and turning his attention to Phoebe. “It was nice to meet you,” he informed her, extending his hand for the shake he’d denied her at the beginning of the evening. “I expect you to call us if you need anything.”

“Yes, sir,” Phoebe nodded, avoiding his gaze. If I wasn’t mistaken, she appeared to be ashamed. Maybe the devil had a conscience after all.

Mama stepped forward to embrace her with a warmth I didn’t think would have been possible at this point in time with all the tumultuous thoughts and feelings filling not only her body but the entire house. She whispered something in her ear before letting go, and Phoebe just nodded, thanked my parents for the evening and made her way out onto the porch, down the steps and across the lawn to my SUV. I sent Mama a look, but she merely shrugged, tapped my face again and told me to drive safe.

Shaking my head at the many ups and downs the night had taken, I shrugged my own jacket on, and headed out, pressing the button on my key fob to unlock the car for Phoebe as I made my way down the stairs. It wasn’t until I was buckled in behind the wheel and had turned to thank her for being so nice to my parents that I realised she was crying.

Well, shit.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, knowing it would be heartless to just ignore it and start driving.

She sniffed and dragged her nose along the sleeve of her jacket. “I didn’t expect them to be so nice,” she explained in a thick voice. “They didn’t even seem to be that mad when I told them what I’d done to you.”

“Trust me,” I said. “They’re absolutely livid, but they’re also the most supportive and generous parents I’ve ever met. They may not be happy about the situation, but that doesn’t mean they’re going yell about it, or kick you out of the house.” They’d save the yelling for me on Tuesday, I thought wryly to myself, putting the car in gear and backing out of the driveway. “We’re doing the best we can with the cards we’ve been dealt. They can see that, so there’s no point in arguing over the matter and ruining a perfectly good meal.” I glanced at her as I paused for a stop sign. “I take it your own parents weren’t quite so accepting.”

She shook her head, sniffing again. “It wasn’t too far from the truth when I told you they kicked me out of the house. When they learned what had happened, they refused to let me stay while I found my own place. I haven’t spoken to them in over a month.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. And I was shocked to find that I genuinely was. Phoebe may have proven to be a bitch of the highest order in the four weeks since she dropped back into my life, but I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel if my parents had had a similar reaction. They weren’t pleased, but at least they were willing to stick around and be the people they had always promised they were.

Phoebe let out a pained sound. “Don’t be,” she insisted. “I brought this all on myself. I can’t handle your pity.”

“Would you rather I go back to being angry at you?” I questioned.

“I’d _prefer_ if we could find a way to get a long,” she admitted, rubbing a hand over her belly. “For the baby’s sake.”

I nodded. “Then we need to talk about your friend.”


	18. Chapter 17

** Chapter 17 **

Present

The tinkling sound of laughter filled my ears as I stepped inside from the garage. Feeling the last of the day’s stress slough off my shoulders, I followed the giggling to the kitchen where I found my father dangling my daughter over a large pot on the counter while my mother smiled indulgently and shook her head as she stirred a pot on the stove.

“Daddy!” Kenzie cried, spotting me as I entered and squirming to get out of her grandfather’s grasp. He relented and set her down on the floor, allowing her to charge over and monkey climb up my body. “Bo-Bo wants to eat me!” she exclaimed, still laughing as she wrapped her legs around my waist and gripped her hands behind my neck. “He said my strawberry bubbles made me smell good enough to eat!”

I chuckled, wrapping an arm around her and pressing my nose to her shoulder, inhaling deeply. “Mmm,” I murmured. “You _do_ smell yummy. And strawberries have always been Bo-Bo’s favourite.”

“I was thinking we could eat her for dessert,” Dad explained, gesturing to the pot. “Stew her a bit, add some ice-cream, maybe come chocolate.” He smacked his lips. “Delicious!”

“No!” Kenzie giggle-squealed, leaping from my arms and racing over to the fridge. “We made _cupcakes_ for dessert, remember!?” Hauling open the door, she pointed inside. “See? Pink cupcakes for me and Abuela, green cupcakes for Daddy and Bo-Bo.”

I leaned in for a closer look, noting that there was more than just green and pink in there. “What about the purple ones and blue ones?” I asked, pointing to the dozens of cakes in question.

“For after the recital,” Mama said tapping the clean end of her wooden spoon on my shoulder lightly. “Dinner’s almost done. Everyone go wash up.”

As Kenzie and Dad shuffled dutifully down the hall to wash their hands, still arguing over whether Kenzie would make a good addition to the meal, I dropped a kiss on top of my mother’s head, pulling her in for a one armed hug. “You didn’t have to cook,” I informed her, even though it was a useless gesture. Mama loved to take care of people and making sure we ate well was a favourite form she liked to provide. It was right up there with nagging me about taking time for myself and Kenz to just relax

“You know I did,” Mama countered, patting my cheek before shoving me toward the door. “Otherwise we all would have been starving waiting for you to get home and make something,” she quipped as I walked out. It was another subtle dig at my work-life balance, but I knew she was only joking. The only reason I’d been later getting home tonight was because I knew Kenzie was well looked after with my parents, and that Mama would _insist_ on cooking, even if I _was_ home at my usual time.

We ate dinner while Kenzie told us about her day – a repeat performance for Abuela and Bo-Bo who had heard all about it on the way home from school – then moved to the living room where I pulled out my laptop and external hard drive to find the wedding pictures I’d promised to share with my daughter that morning. While I was searching she quizzed her grandparents on what they thought of her mother, and what happened when they met her, and was she nice, and did she like to cook, and did she like me, and did she like Daddy, and, oh, did you know that she kept a secret from Daddy? She was relentless as usual, but Dad and Mama were patient as ever. They explained about several different occasions when they’d spent time with Phoebe, and glossing over every prickly detail I knew they’d taken issue with at the time, instead spinning that perfect fairytale view every child should have of her parents.

“But was Mommy and Daddy happy?” Kenzie asked, just as I was transferring a bunch of photos from the period when Phoebe was still alive into a separate folder on my desktop for her to explore. “Uncle Bobby and Uncle Los-Los said that Mommy got annoyed at Daddy, Daddy got angry at her.”

“They had their ups and downs,” Dad conceded. “But they both loved you very much.”

Mama and I nodded in agreement, and I spun the laptop around on the coffee table to face them. “I have to go out in a bit,” I informed Kenzie, having already okayed the brief babysitting stint with my parents earlier in the evening. “I found some photos of Mommy to look through with Abuela and Bo-Bo while gone, and then you need to straight to bed, got it? No fussing tonight, we have a big day tomorrow.”

Kenzie nodded, slipping off the couch and pulling the computer closer to her. “Got it,” she said seriously with a mock salute. “Photos, cupcake, bed, big day tomorrow.”

“Photos, cupcake, _teeth_ , bed,” I corrected.

“ _Teeeeeeeeeeth,_ bed,” she agreed, already staring wide-eyed at the screen as she clicked through the pictures I’d found. The sheer rapture on her face was astounding. She’d seen phots of her mother before, we kept a couple on the mantle piece as a reminder, but she’d never seen the ones I kept on my laptop that catalogued the eighteen months we’d lived together. It was like she’d found a priceless jewel with every click of the arrow. When I failed to move from my position on the other side of the coffee table, she stopped clicking and frowned at me. “Go, Daddy,” she said, shooing me away. “We have things to do.”

Not one to miss such obvious clues that I wasn’t needed there, I nodded, and made my way to my en suite bathroom to shower before heading out. I’d taken the time to re-style my hair after stepping out from under the spray, and was rubbing the towel over my chest as I exited back into my bedroom when a voice cut through the dimly lit space, making me freeze. Half a second later, realising who it was, I quickly wrapped the towel around my waist, glaring at the woman perched on the end of my bed.

“Godsake, Mama,” I growled, tucking the corner of the towel in against my hips snuggly. “Have you heard of privacy?”

She just shrugged. “I’ve seen it all before, mijo,” she pointed out. “I used to bathe you and change your diapers, remember?”

I shook my head as I crossed to the closet. “I’ve changed a fair bit since then,” I pointed out.

“I can see that,” she nodded. There was silence as I pulled out my good jeans and polo shirt that was just the right balance of classy and casual. When I turned back around to toss them on the bed, Mama was eyeing me critically. “You’ve got a date.” It was a statement. Not a question. Just a fact that she was acknowledging.

“What makes you say that?” I questioned nonchalantly, grabbing a pair of boxers from the drawer and wondering how I could go about putting them on without showcasing my junk to my mother. I knew she wouldn’t have cared given her reaction when I walked out of the bathroom, but it felt weird to be open to her gaze after so many years had passed and I’d experienced so many wicked delights centred around the area currently covered by my towel.

She leaned back against my pillow, seeming to enjoy my discomfort, and settling in for a decent show of it. “You hair,” she pointed out. Making a gesture over her own head that was clearly meant to imitate the style on mine, she added. “You only do that thing with your hair when you have a date.”

I glanced in the mirror beside me, wondering what ‘thing’ she was referring to. It looked exactly the same as it looked every day as far as I was aware. “This is how I _always_ do my hair,” I stated.

“Mmm, no,” Mama said, shaking her head with a wry smile. “This is much more deliberate. Like you crafted each spike individually. It’s adorable that you put so much effort in.”

As much as I tried to keep it locked inside, a groan bubbled up from my chest. It was just like Mama to tease me just before I went out. She used to do this when I was a teenager, ambushing me in the hall as I emerged from my room to go out with friends or a girl, and making comments about the thought that I’d obviously put into my appearance. At least back then I’d been fully clothed. Now I was trapped by her unflinching, amused gaze, and hoping that my towel didn’t decided to give up the ghost and just slip straight off my hips. I could only imagine how much that would add to her mirth.

“Who is she?” she asked as I grabbed up the clothes I’d tossed out and finally decided to retreat back into the closet.

“No one, Mama,” I called out, rolling my eyes as I shoved my legs into the appropriate holes and pulled the underwear up under the towel which I kept on just in case the closet door decided, by some act of betrayal, to open by itself. We’re just meeting for a couple of drinks.”

I could almost hear the raised eyebrow in the humming sound that drifted through the gap under the door. She didn’t believe me. I wasn’t surprised. Given my history, not many people believed that I was actually capable of carrying out a typical date. They just assumed that I identified my prey, seduced them, had my way with them, and snuck out while they were still in a blissful haze. While that may have been my method five years ago, the whole fatherhood thing had put a rather swift end to it. It was an adjustment, for sure, but once I’d finally figured out how to deal with my stress and emotions without fucking someone’s brains out, I found I was a much calmer person.

“That’s it,” I yelled in response to my mother’s scepticism as I buttoned my jeans and re-emerged from the closet while stuffing my arms into my shirt. “I swear. You _know_ I don’t do that anymore.”

She eyed me even more critically than before. “I know you _tell_ me you don’t do that anymore,” she agreed.

And really, she sort of had a point. I wasn’t the playboy I had been. But I wasn’t a monk either. I wasn’t programmed for celibacy, even with my newer, healthier ways of finding my centre, I couldn’t fully escape the sexual tension that built up from time to time. But that’s why I had the agreement with Tori. No expectations. No strings attached. No chance of accidental pregnancy.

Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to the top of her head before sitting beside her to pull on my shoes. “I promise, Mama,” I said solemnly. “I learned my lesson with Phoebe. There’s no way I’d want to drag Kenzie through something like that.”

The look on her face was grim as she watched me tie my laces, but she nodded anyway. “If I find out you’re lying, you’ll find yourself waking up in a chastity belt,” she warned, standing from the bed so that the full effect of her hands on hips pose wasn’t lost by the soft green pillow behind her, or the stuffed whale Kenzie had left on my bed the previous evening.

Little did Mama know that it wouldn’t be the first time something like that had happened. Shuddering, I too got to my feet, and headed straight for the door. “On that note,” I said in the most chipper tone I could manage given the memories resurfacing in my mind. “I should go. Thanks for taking care of Mackenzie.”

“She’s my favourite grandchild,” Mama stated as she followed me down the hall. “Why would I refuse.”

“She’s you _only_ grandchild,” I reminded her with a glance over my shoulder. “And I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate you allowing me to take a night for myself.”

She nodded as we reached the doorway to the living room once more, where Dad was telling my daughter about the time we’d all gotten sick from eating Phoebe’s first ever tuna casserole attempt. Kenzie’s guffaws were almost loud enough to drown out my mother’s threat. “If you’re not back by midnight I’m changing the alarm code,” she informed me.

“I’m a grown man, Mama!” I protested, and was about to point out that I should not have a curfew at the age of thirty-five, but she got in before I could.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Mama said quietly.

I knew she had every right to worry after the years of stress I’d put her through, but I really was a changed man these days. I had systems in place, and I was genuinely only going out to meet the children’s librarian, Nadine, for drinks.

A sigh fell from my lips before I could stop it. “I’ll be home by midnight,” I promised. “Otherwise I won’t be able to get enough sleep before Kenzie wakes up at the crack of dawn tomorrow. It’s a big day. First recital. No way is she going to chance sleeping in and missing it.”


	19. Chapter 18

** Chapter 18 **

Present

True to her word, Mama had been standing beside the main alarm system panel with a glass of wine and a frown of concentration when I returned home just one minute before midnight. If she knew off the top of her head how to change the code, I felt sure she’d have done it already just to spite me. Looking me up and down, she’d let out a slight ‘ _humph’,_ closed the panel, and downed the last mouthful of wine, leading the way to the kitchen. I grabbed out the green cupcake they’d saved for me, and poured myself a glass of milk to go with it while she rinsed her glass, and by the time we’d both sat down at the table, Dad had wandered in to join us.

“How was your date?” Dad asked, removing the reading glasses from the top of his head, and using them to mark his page in the book he must have been reading while waiting for me to get home. Not for the first time, I wondered if this was where Kenzie got her love of stories from. Growing up I’d rarely seen my father out of reach of a book. Even at my high school graduation, there’s been a well-worn paperback tucked into his back pocket, just in case an opportunity arose during the ceremony that he could sneak a couple of pages in. To this day, I’m not entirely convinced he hadn’t.

“It was fine,” I said, licking buttercream off my thumb and determinedly ignoring the rising sense of déjà vu as I was thrown back to all the post-date debriefings I’d endured as a teen. They just wanted to see me happy, but it was awkward as hell. Then _and_ now.

“Did you like her?” Mama enquired, leaning forward with interest.

I bit my tongue and managed to hold back the sarcastic retort that rolled through my mind in sync with the mental eye roll: _I wouldn’t have gone out with her with her if I didn’t like her._ Instead, I opted for a far more respectful statement that also shed some light on the reason I would definitely not be seeing her again in a personal capacity – we’d no doubt continue to cross paths at the library. “She was nice,” I explained. _Possibly a little too nice,_ I added to myself. “But-“

“Of course, there’s a ‘but’,” Mama interjected.

“-she’s too young for me,” I finished, as if she hadn’t spoken.

Dad raised his eyebrows at me. “How young?” he questioned, and I could feel the reproach building. While it in no way affected their rock-solid relationship, there was a not insignificant age game of nine years between my parents. They’d always preached that age was just a number, and that love was innumerate, so the numbers didn’t matter anyway.

I shook my head and took a swig of milk. “It’s not her age that’s the problem,” I told them, biting into my cake. “It’s the phase she’s in.” When my parents just looked at me expectantly, I was forced to continue talking whether I wanted to or not, it was the kind of unyielding power they’d somehow always held over me. Or maybe it was all in my head, and the mere fact that talking to them had always helped me to sort out whatever problems I was living through at the time was what kept me revealing my heart and soul to them.

“She’s twenty-two,” I revealed after I’d swallowed. “And while she acts mature and professional at the library, and she’s great with the kids, she’s clearly still in the party-hard phase.” I went on to describe how in the course of just the few hours we’d spent together, she’d managed to render herself incredibly drunk, and I’d taken it upon myself to drive her home. A task that would have been much more straight forward if she hadn’t passed out the second I’d deposited her in the front passenger seat of the SUV. It had taken a full body pat down (something that brought me no pleasure whatsoever under the circumstances) before I’d finally located her license tucked into her bra, giving me an address to drive her home. A further fifteen minutes was spent all by dragging her into the house, and explaining to _her_ parents what had happened.

“That’s not the kind of role model I want for my daughter,” I concluded several minutes after both the cake and milk had disappeared.

Mama and Dad nodded their agreement.

“Very well,” Mama said quietly, taking my cupcake wrapper and glass and depositing them both in the appropriate places. “You made a good call. Now we should all get to bed. Kenzie will be up in a few short hours if her excitement to get to bed was anything to judge by.”

*0*

We made it to the dance studio for dress rehearsal with ten minutes to spare, and I was feeling pretty good about the hair situation given that Mama had taken charge on that front. She’d even managed to tame the frizz halo that usually framed her face. Until, that is, we stepped into the dressing room to find that even Mama’s hair skills weren’t up to scratch. Ever girl in the room had a perfectly formed, sleek and shiny bun perched on the very top of their heads. Like a polished donut.

Kenzie spotted it immediately, her hands flying to cover her bun, which, by comparison, was looking like a curl of blonde dog poo on the back of her head – not that I would tell her that. “Daddy,” she whispered urgently, turning a full one hundred and eighty degrees to face me with a stricken expression. “Their buns!”

I knew I had to diffuse the situation, and quickly, to avoid a bout of tears. “I know, Kenz,” I whispered back conspiratorially, leaning down so my words were spoken directly into her ear. “We better warn Uncle Los-Los so Auntie Steph doesn’t try to eat all those donuts.”

My joke did the trick, eliciting a small laugh from her as she lowered her hands. “What about mine?” she asked, turning her head a little so I could see it again.

“Nah, you should be safe,” I said. “Yours looks more like an ice-cream, and Aunty Steph has to be in a specific mood for an ice-cream.”

More giggling as I spun her around and we moved to find the cubby with her name on it to set her dance bag down. We’d just made it three steps when an absolutely stunning woman suddenly appeared, blocking our path. She was dressed all in black, but classy, not the kind I was used to seeing on a daily basis, and her auburn hair was pulled into an artful twisty-tucky thing at the back her head, just a few tendrils left loose to frame her face. And what a face, too! Those freckles! It took every ounce of my concentration to ignore the sudden spike of desire and tune in to what she was saying as her lips parted.

“McKenzie Santos?” she enquired, and I almost made a fool of myself by correcting her on my name before I realised she was, in fact, addressing my daughter.

“You can call me Kenzie,” she replied with a nod, holding out her hand politely.

“Nice to meet you, Kenzie,” the woman said with a gleaming white smile as she shook the offered hand. “My name is Grace. Miss Moon asked me to do everyone’s hair for the recital today, does that sound fun?”

Kenzie’s hand was on her bun again in a flash, a look of uncertainty on her face. “My Abuela did my hair,” she told Grace solemnly. “Daddy’s not good at it. He always does it wrong.”

Grace nodded along with the painful truths my daughter was sharing, amusement colouring her expression as her gaze flicked briefly to me. “Your Abuela did a lovely job,” she assured Kenzie patiently. “Do you think she would mind if we changed it so that it looked like everyone else’s?”

Biting her lip uncertainly, Kenzie craned her head back to look at me. “Abuela did it special,” she murmured worriedly, that heartbreaking look on her face. “And I don’t want Aunty Steph to eat my hair…”

I stifled a laugh as Grace’s big, chocolate brown eyes went from compassionate and understanding to utterly confused and concerned in an instant. “No worries, Muffin-head,” I said, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “We’ll take a couple of photos of the hairstyle Abuela did to keep as a memory, and while Miss Grace is fixing you to look like a donut-head, I’ll text Uncle Los-Los and Aunty Steph to make sure she has a real edible donut so she doesn’t try to eat anyone’s hair. Deal?”

“Deal,” Kenzie nodded.

 _Thank god,_ I thought, because I could feel the seconds ticking down to when all the girls were meant to be on stage and ready to rehearse. No way did we want to get on Miss Moon’s bad side today of all days. With any luck we could make it to the end of the recital unscathed and say goodbye to the impossible to please dance teacher forever.

We took about a dozen photos of Kenzie and her hair in various angles and positions and then Grace lead us over to a table with a lighted mirror and a little stool. Brushes, combs, sprays, and other hair odds and ends were laid out neatly on the table. I catalogued them as I usually did when it came to foreign objects: by ranking them in order of most to least useful as a weapon, or to aid in survival. I was just contemplating if the spirally pin things could reasonably be used to inflict pain when Grace set her gaze on me in the mirror, disrupting my thoughts.

“Do you have Kenzie’s rat?’ she asked.

Now it was my turn to look confused and concerned as I stared back at her. “Kenzie’s what?” I said, certain I’d misheard the woman. Surely she hadn’t actually said-

“Rat,” she repeated.

I blinked. “I don’t understand,” I admitted.

“I don’t have a rat,” Kenzie piped up. “But Auntie Steph has a hamster. His name is Rex.”

Grace smiled softly, a hint of sympathy shining through her amusement. “It’s a piece of padding that helps form the delicious donut shaped in the hair,” she explained, letting us know that she’d managed to decipher our inside jokes. “You don’t have one, do you?”

“Auntie Steph would just eat it if we did,” Kenzie announced with authority as I just shook my head.

“I didn’t know we needed one,” I said, suddenly feeling even more out of my depth than I already did whenever I entered the studio. The world of dance outside of a basic waltz and tango, and the bump and grind that was favoured on the dance floor in the clubs, was not my cup of tea, but I endured it anyway for Kenzie, because she’d been begging for dance lessons since the second she learned they were a thing. “I can race to the mall and pick one up if you tell me what shop I can find them in,” I offered.

She shook her head. “That’s okay. I have spares in my kit. You can borrow it for the day, or you can purchase it.” I went to reach for my wallet, but she shook her head again. “We’ll fix it up later. The important thing right now is to get Kenzie’s hair done so she can be on stage on time. Ready, Kenzie?”

“Ready!”

I watched in astonishment as Grace took down the bun Mama had painstakingly crafted this morning while Kenzie ate her breakfast, and proceeded to scrape all of Kenzie’s into a pony tail right on the top of her head. When she let go briefly to grab the donut padding, the hair flowed out in all directions like a fountain. No sooner had I made this acknowledgement than the hair was gathered up once more, threaded through the middle of the donut and deftly tucked, pinned and sprayed until Kenzie’s hair looked exactly the same as everyone else’s. The whole thing took maybe four minutes, finishing up just in time for Miss Moon’s assistant to call everyone to the stage.

“Thank you, Miss Grace!” Kenzie cried, giving the woman a brief hug before running off after her peers. She paused half way to the door and pointed at me. “Don’t forget to text Auntie Steph!” she instructed. “Maybe if you tell her there’s rats inside the donuts she won’t want to eat them.”

“Good thinking,” I called after her as she disappeared from sight and I lifted the phone that was still in my hand to dutifully send off a quick warning message to Steph and Ranger, signing it from both myself and Kenzie. When I looked up, I again found myself caught in Grace’s soft brown gaze. “Thank you for that,” I sighed, tucking the phone away and pulling out my wallet. “How much do I owe you from the rat thing?”

Once more, she shook her head, waving me off. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, tidying up her hair doo-dads. “Miss Moon was meant to email all the parents and make sure they brought one, but I’ve heard from multiple parents that they received no such instructions. Consider it a-“

“Consolation prize?” I finished for her when she paused. “I’d prefer you let me pay you for the donut. You have no idea how worried we both were about getting Kenzie’s hair to do the right thing.”

“Kenzie’s mom isn’t good at hair either?” Grace guessed.

“Kenzie’s Mom is dead,” I informed her in that same, emotionless tone it always came out in. “I was referring to Kenzie and me.” I felt like an ass for responding the way I had, especially when it wiped the happy sparkle out of Grace’s eye. Stating the cold hard facts of parental or spousal death tended to do that, but no matter how much I tried, it always came out the same way: blunt and harsh.

“O-oh, um, I-,” she stuttered, averting her eyes to the combs under her still fingers. “I didn’t meant to- I just assumed – I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I said quietly. “We’re much better off this way.” And before she could dwell on that statement too much and draw conclusions about my meaning, I brought the conversation back to the donut-rat currently residing in my daughter’s hair. “If you won’t let me pay you for the padding, can I at least pay you for hair services?” I asked.

“I’m already getting a generous fee from Miss Moon,” she said almost apologetically. “I couldn’t possibly take your money too.”

She was back to making eye contact in the mirror again, which I took to be a good sign that she wasn’t too traumatised by my uncaring comments about Phoebe’s death, but I still felt like I needed to show this woman how grateful I was – Kenzie and I both were – for the magical transformation she’d rendered on Kenzie’s head. “How can I thank you?” I enquired, stopping just shy of beseeching. I was grateful, yes, but I still had standards. No one respects a desperate man.

“Tell you what,” I Grace said, spinning to face me straight on. “It would be the ultimate show of gratitude if you took today as inspiration to learn how to improve your hair game.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly, even as a smile stretched the corners of my mouth upwards. “How do you suggest I do that?”

She grinned, and it felt like I’d been punched in the gut it was so achingly bright. “It just so happens that I teach a Daddy-Daughter-Dos class on Thursday nights,” she explained, handing me a business card. “Bring Kenzie along and we’ll call it even for the donut?”

“A shameless plug, huh?” I said, eyeing the card.

“Gotta drum up business any way I can,” she shrugged, batting her lashes innocently. “You’re a prime candidate for my class.”

I’d be insane not to take the opportunity to see this woman again. She was absolutely captivating, appeared to be genuinely nice, and if she could teach me how to do Kenzie’s hair, then all the better. “We’ll be there,” I assured her.


	20. Chapter 19

** Chapter 19 **

Present

We were gathered in a corner of the foyer, waiting to be let into the auditorium for the recital, which should be any minute now. The girls had finished their dress rehearsal, had a lunch break and time to rest, recharge and get their make-up done – I wasn’t impressed with the thought of my five-year-old daughter wearing make-up, but it turns out it’s just enough to make sure they don’t look washed out under the stage lights, so I guess I could deal - and then all the parents except the designated backstage helpers had been shooed out so that the last minute hair and costume checks could be carried out before the show. I told Kenzie to break a leg (and explained that is was a version of wishing someone good luck, when she looked horrified at the suggestion), and ventured out to join the rest of her fan club.

Being that the group contained Ranger, Tank and Bobby among their number, they were easy to spot in the mingling crowd of soccer moms, semi-attentive dads and doting grandparents, especially since they’d been given a wide berth. I could only imagine what kind of reaction e would have gotten if we hadn’t been limited in the number of tickets we could purchase per dancer, because you can be damn sure that every single one of the guys back at Rangeman would have been here. They’d been grossly disappointed when I broke the news to them and had made Tank and Bobby promise to record the entire thing. I had a feeling they’d coordinated before arriving today and would be making sure we had both close-up footage and a wide shot of every single second of the performance.

I couldn’t help but be grateful for the village that had stepped up to help me raise my daughter. I don’t know what I would have done without them.

“The woman in black is making eyes at you,” Tank announced quietly, leaning around Bobby to elbow me in the side.

I let out a groan but managed to keep my eyes from rolling. The moms were _always_ making eyes at me. Some of the single moms had even been so bold as to hit on me while we were watching a class session. One thing I’d learned in the last four years was that as much as I’d thought myself irresistible before, it was nothing compared to the powerful image of being a devoted single dad. When Kenzie was eighteen months old, I’d barely been able to make it through a grocery shop without having to fend off the advances of women in every other aisle. I’d managed to build up an immunity to it over the years, but Kenzie’s starting school and dance this year had exposed me to a whole new brand of desperate woman: the single mother looking for a ‘ _play date’_.

“They all make eyes,” I murmured, turning so that my words were directed away from the small huddle my parents had made with Steph and Ranger. After last night’s inquisition, the last thing I needed was for them to overhear Tank’s wingman-esque comments and come to the conclusion that I was using my daughter’s extra-curricular activities as my own personal dating service. “Just ignore them.”

Bobby followed the direction of Tank’s gaze over my shoulder to make his own assessment. “I dunno, man,” he said. “She seems real intent on getting your attention.”

“She’s waving,” Tank added with a smirk.

“And cutting a swift path through the crowd,” Bobby narrated.

“I bet she’ll call out to you in 3…2..”

“Mr. Santos?”

I barely managed to control my reaction as my pulse spiked, threatening to jerk my head all the way to face her. I’d only had one conversation with the woman, but her rich, velvety voice would be forever ingrained in my mind. I turned slowly to face her just as she reached our group and my father responded to the name that was technically his first.

“Yes?” he asked, stepping forward to meet her.

Her eyes darted to his face, then mine and must have taken notice of the resemblance between us, because she paused ever so briefly before clarifying. “Oh, um, no, sorry I meant, um…” Apparently at a loss for words at this point, she simply pointed to me.

“Grace?” I asked, ignoring the way my friends and family all turned to stare at me. The worried crease to Grace’s brow was more important than their curiosity.

“You need to come backstage,” she informed me firmly.

My stomach twisted, but I wasted no time in leaving the group behind and accompanying her back through the crowd. “Is everything okay?” I asked urgently, needing to prepare myself for whatever situation had arisen in my very short absence. “Is Kenzie all right?”

Grace nodded, practically shouldering people out of the way ahead of me. “She’s fine,” she said over her shoulder. “Just nervous.”

“She was okay when I left. What happened?”

By this point we’d reached the door that lead backstage and she turned to face me, rather than lead me through it. “I’m not sure, but she’s upset.”

I narrowed my eyes at the woman. “You said she was fine,” I pointed out, the knot in my stomach getting tighter.

“I meant she’s not hurt,” Grace explained apologetically. “Sorry, I should have been more specific.”

Shaking my head, I put my hand on the door beside her hip and pushed it open. There was no point in arguing the point now, it would only delay our arrival at and soothing of my daughter.

As she stepped to the side to let me enter, she continued to explain. “I tried to get her to tell me about her Auntie Steph, because it seemed like a happy topic for her when I was doing her hair, but all she could get out was that she wanted you.” She then silently pointed to the left and directed me to a small alcove beside the broom closet the light of my life sat with her arms wrapped around her legs and her face buried in her knees. I had to take a second for a deep breath as the sight knocked the air out of my lungs.

“Hey, Muffin-head,” I said, sitting down on the ground beside her, despite the cramped space. “What’s all this about?” She didn’t respond other than to throw her arms around me and settle into my lap, sniffling loudly into my neck. “Did you get scared?” Her donut bun knocked me in the jaw as she nodded without looking up. “What are you scared of?”

In a mumbling, muffled voice, Kenzie explained that some of the older girls had been talking about their first performance and how there’d been hundreds of people there. Apparently one of the girls had gotten out on stage, taken one look at the audience and all the flashing cameras and froze. She forgot the dance, tripped no less than three people over and proceeded to wet herself right in the middle of the stage. “What if that happens to me?” she finally finished, tears streaming down her face as she finally lifted her head from my shoulder.

“I know it’s not going to happen to you,” I assured her, using the pad of my thumb to brush away some of the tears – she was going to need her make up redone. “Do you know how I know?”

She shook her head, staring into my eyes plaintively, desperate to believe that what I said was true. “How?”

“Because you are the most confident little girl I have ever met,” I told her hauling myself to my feet with her still in my arms. “You’re not scared of performing in front of a whole bunch of people. You’ve being doing it your whole life; you get up and sing, and dance, and tell jokes for your uncles at Rangeman all the time. _And_ ,” I added for emphasis, “You know these dances inside out. You could do them in your sleep. In fact, I thought you might have last night.”

She sniffed again, the tears finally having dried up, but she still didn’t look like my happy little girl. The little worry line on her forehead just wouldn’t go away. “What if I freeze or mess up on accident?” she asked.

“Then you take a great big breath,” I told her, letting my chest puff out as I demonstrated the action. “Let it out.” I blew the air into her face, eliciting the smallest hint of a smile. “And keep going. You won’t be alone on stage, so you’ll be able to see what everyone else is doing if you get lost.”

“Okay,” she said quietly.

I hugged her a little tighter. “Feel better?” I checked. She’d calmed down significantly on the outside, but I knew my little overthinker had a tendency to bottle it up inside from time to time. Probably, she’d been feeling nervous all week and listening to the other girls talk about their own experiences had been the straw that broke the camel’s back. I needed to make sure she was going to be okay to go on before I tried to leave and re-join the audience.

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“Are you going to be okay if I go again?”

She swivelled her head away from me, and for a second, I thought she was shaking her head no, but instead she proved how adaptable she was. “Can Miss Grace stay?” she asked, pointing to where the woman was standing just a few feet away trying to appear like she hadn’t been eavesdropping on our entire exchange.

“Of course,” Grace said, holding out a tissue toward me. “We should probably fix up your make up from all that crying, huh?” she suggested as I helped Kenzie blow her nose.

“That sounds like a good idea,” I agreed. “How much time do we have before they start?”

Grace glanced at her watch. “Long enough,” she assured me. “And Kenzie’s group is on second, so we have a little longer.”

I nodded, silently thanking her for being so helpful once again. I don’t think Kenzie and I would have survived this recital experience without her, and the recital hadn’t even started yet. “How about I tell you a bit more of the story while Miss Grace fixes your make up?” I said, letting Kenzie slide down so that she could walk beside me.

“Yeah!” Kenzie enthused, grasping both my and Grace’s hands as we made our way back over to that same lighted dressing table.

“Ooooh, what story is this?” Grace asked as I hoisted Kenzie up into the chair. “Goldilocks and the three bears?”

Kenzie shook her head, now grinning from ear to ear and I knew I’d made the right choice even though it meant I would also be telling this complete stranger fairly private details about my past. “Daddy has been telling me about how he met my Mommy,” Kenzie explained excitedly as Grace ran a moist cloth over her face to remove the smudged make up. “Last time, Mommy meeting my Abuela and Bo-Bo, and then she got upset on the way home because they were too nice to her. That’s where we’re up to, right Daddy?”

“That’s right,” I agreed, immensely glad that I’d edited the story to leave out all of the nasty details so that Kenzie couldn’t just blurt those out as well. “We talked on the way home about a couple of things that had made us both unhappy and agreed to stop doing them.”

Grace raised her eyebrows in interest, but neither said anything or looked at me as she brushed a pink colour onto Kenzie’s cheeks. No doubt between the current tale and my earlier comments she was building up a healthy curiosity for whatever had gone down.

Kenzie, her cheeks still sucked into the fish lips pose Grace had gotten her to do, asked, “What things?”

How to explain _that_ bit. “Well, Mommy had had a friend over to the house and he did some not nice things while he was there,” I said vaguely. “So Daddy didn’t want him to come back.”

“Like when Uncle Hal broke the kitchen window and then he wasn’t allowed to babysit anymore for a while?” she asked.

“A little,” I conceded. “And Daddy had been a bit mean and bossy,” I went on. Both were perfectly acceptable reactions to the force that was Phoebe Wheeler, I thought, but she’d taken offence to that, my spying on her past, and the fact that I wouldn’t sleep her, so it had come up on that ride as a point for me to work on in return for her keeping her lover out of my house.

Kenzie scrunched up her nose at me while Grace was choosing a different product to add to my daughter’s face. “You _can_ be a bit bossy sometimes,” she told me honestly. “But I know it’s only because you love me and want to keep me safe. And you’re only mean to the bad guys, right Daddy?”

I couldn’t help but smile at Kenzie’s assessment of my demeanour, and the way Grace tried to stifle a snort of laughter. The sound ended up coming out as a strangled squeak as she checked a lipstick shade on her hand. “Right,” I agreed again. “But Mommy didn’t realise yet that I just wanted to keep us all safe, so she was annoyed by my bossiness. Even more annoyed than you were when I tried to get you to go for a nap when you were younger,” I added, then put on my high-pitched imitation of her protests. “Not now, Daddy, I’m not tired. You can’t tell me to go to sleep, I’m still playing! No, Daddy. No naps! _You_ go have a nap if you’re tired.”

Both Kenzie and Grace were laughing so hard that they had to take a minute before Grace could apply the red lipstick to Kenzie’s lips. I stayed quiet as they both breathed deeply, managed to get themselves under control and finished up with the make-up. I felt much better about leaving my little girl to go join the audience now, knowing that she was happy, and calm, and had found an adult that she trusted to take care of her in my absence. I dropped a kiss on her hair when Grace stepped back, declaring her ready, repeated my luck-giving sentiments from earlier, assuring her that I would be in the audience watching her and that she would do great. I’d just taken two steps back toward the door, though, when she called out, giving me pause.

“Wait!” she cried quietly.

“What is it, Muffin-head?”

“What happened next?” she asked.

“Next,” I said, casting my mind back to the tumultuous conversation we’d had after leaving my parents’ house. “I moved in with Mommy.”


	21. Chapter 20

** Chapter 20 **

Past

“So, how was your first ever week of cohabiting with a woman who isn’t you mother?” Bobby asked, sliding his eyes away from the house we were staking out to cast me a knowing look. I could tell he’d been itching to ask about it all week, but thankfully, he’d managed to tamp it down otherwise I may have gone for the jugular.

“Hell,” I admitted, refusing to return his look. At least one of us had to keep an eye out for the skip, and Bobby had obviously decided that it wasn’t him at the moment. “But we agreed we have to try t make it work.” I paused, my gut clenching on the words that next left my mouth: “For the baby.” Because here’s the long and short of it: I’d known, on an intellectual level, that I’d had a hand in creating a life that was now growing in Phoebe’s womb, but it hadn’t really struck me that that life would equal a baby, or that I would be that baby’s father until last Monday. I’d been putting my clothes away in the closet of the second bedroom I’d now be sleeping in and came across a stash of baby paraphernalia Phoebe had tucked away there when she’d had the house to herself.

 _When I pulled the boxes out and stacked them on the bed until I could figure out a better place for them, my eye had caught on an impossible small onesie in the top of one of the boxes. It was white with black arrows pointing to the head, arm, and leg holes and labelled appropriately. Right in the middle were the words_ ‘Dad, you got this!’ _I was caught between a smile and a grimace as the thought of being partially responsible for the survival of a tiny, helpless human sent waves of apprehension crashing through me. My life would never be the same again. Already, I’d undergone some massive changes to accommodate this new life, and there would be many, many more in the next eighteen years. But I knew I would do whatever was necessary to make sure this child had the best life possible._

_At that moment, Phoebe had arrived home from work in a flurry of clomping shoes and banging doors, dispelling the quietly reflective moment I’d found myself in._

_Feeling a strange connection to the message conveyed on the front of the onesie, like my unborn son or daughter was reaching out to lend me the strength I needed to get through this for their sake, I quickly rolled it up and tucked it away in my sock drawer. I bundled the rest of the boxes into my arms and carried them out of my room just as Phoebe stepped out of the kitchen, a bottle of water in one hand, her realtor jacket in the other. She looked exhausted, but that didn’t stop her eyes from sharpening as she saw what I was holding._

_“Where are you going with that?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and refusing to shift out of the way as I approached._

_“The dining room for now,” I explained calmly, nodding my head in the direction of the doorway just beyond her. “I figured you didn’t want the baby’s stuff to stay in the bottom of my closet. It’d be awkward if you wanted or needed something from it, so I’m putting it in the dining room for now. We’ll figure out something more permanent later.”_

_Ridiculously, my thoughtful gestures sparked outrage. “How dare you move_ my _things without permission!? What do you mean_ your _room? I didn’t think you were moving in right away! If we’re occupying both bedrooms, where am I supposed to put the nursery?!” and so on. It appeared that nothing I had done in the hour since I knocked off work was the right thing to do as far as she was concerned. She yelled at me for a good five minutes while we faced off in the hallway, the baby items sill filling my arms._

_With every biting word that left her lips, I grit my teeth a little harder and pictured that onesie now stashed in my sock drawer. I could do this. I’d survived terrorist attacks and hostile take overs. I’d endured countless hours of physical torture without selling out my comrades. I could handle one hormonal woman with control issues and a princess complex._

Dad, you got this.

_Lowering my well-practice blank expression into place, I breathed evenly through my nose and out through my mouth. Once. Twice. As I let it out a third time, I was awash in a familiar calm. Phoebe was still ranting at me, but I’d long since tuned her out to find my centre. I adjusted my hold on the boxes, shook my head, and simply stepped forward, forcing her to scoot out of the way or be ploughed down. She still didn’t take the hint and shut up, though, instead keeping up a constant stream of complaints as I deposited the boxes on the dining room table and proceeded through the connecting door to the kitchen to make myself some dinner._

_“Have you eaten?” I asked serenely when she paused in her constant mouth noise to catch her breath._

_Phoebe blinked. “N-no, not yet,” she said hesitantly. I’d caught her off guard. Good. Maybe she would realise that I wasn’t going to rise to her bait. If she wasn’t happy with something, she was going to have to learn to discuss it calmly and maturely, like the adult she supposedly was. With any luck I’d have her acting like a decent human being by the time the baby came._

_I nodded. “I’m going to grill some chicken to go with the salad I made earlier,” I explained, placing the container of raw chicken breast on the counter. “Is that something you would eat?”_

_She nodded silently, the wind having completely disappeared from her sails. I had the brief thought that perhaps the yelling and control-freak act was a defence mechanism, something to help her feel like she had control of a life that was rapidly spinning away from her, but then I reminded myself that she’d instigated this entire situation, she’d help all the cards and played them without concern for the effect they had on others. If she felt like she’d lost control, she only had herself to blame. It probably wasn’t a good attitude to have toward your future wife, but I was finding it hard to maintain my compassion around her since she’d started showing her true colours._

_I nodded in return. “I’ll make enough for both of us, then,” I offered flatly._

_“Thank you,” she murmured, though I’d already turned my back on her to focus on the stove. “I’ll go have a quick shower,” she added in a mumble as she shuffled back out of the room._

_I let out a long, slow sigh, rolling my shoulders to relieve some tension and grateful that to have a few minutes absence from the woman. Ten minutes down, only – I did some quick math in my head – something like seven thousand days to go until this child turned eighteen and I could reasonably distance myself from the woman._

_During dinner, she’d complained more politely about the fact that while we’d agreed that I would move into the house with her, we’d failed to set out a time frame for the event, and hadn’t discussed sleeping arrangements at all. Apparently she’d assumed we would be sharing the master bedroom despite the fact that already I’d adamantly informed her that until such a time as I felt I could trust her, I would not be sleeping it her. Neither in the sexually, nor slumber-wise._

“And that was just the first night,” I told Bobby, finally turning my head to look at him. “She’s fighting me tooth and nail at every turn. I don’t understand how this is the same woman that was so nervous and lost when she sought me out at the club to tell me that I’m going to be a father. She wants my help and support, but every time I try to give it she revolts. If this is what she was like to the first sucker she married…” I just shook my head, unable to finish the thought, much less the sentence.

“It’s a conundrum,” he agreed. “but maybe she’s just overwhelmed by all the changes that are happening right now.”

I rolled my eyes, using the action to take my focus back to the house we were watching. “I’m overwhelmed by the changes, too, Bobby,” I pointed out. “But you don’t see _me_ morphing into a bitchzilla eight times a day.”

Raising his binoculars to his face, Bobby tilted his head to the side. “Well…” he hedged, and I just knew I was about to have my eyes forced wide open by some hard truth he was about to reveal. “You _have_ gotten into the habit of just punching the first free-standing guy you come across in the gym.” He adjusted the focus, stared quietly for a moment, then lowered the binoculars to the dash again, picking up his coffee instead. “And you’ve been a lot… testier with the new recruits. I think they’re more scared of you than they are of Ranger at this point.”

I bit out a curse. Apparently, my new-found method of dealing with Pheobe – remain calm no matter what – was costing me the easy going charm I’d carefully scaffolded my reputation on. Usually I was the one assuring the new recruits that Ranger wasn’t as cold-hearted as he looked, not making them shit their pants with fear.

I thought of the onesie for what was probably the one millionth time that week. _Dad, you got this_. It had been working wonders on the home front, reminding me of why I was enduring Phoebe’s antics rather than just throwing her out on her ass like her husband had eventually come to his senses and done. I had a responsibility to my child to be there for them, and for their mother, to provide the best life possible. A vital step in that process was learning to live with Phoebe, at least for the time being.

But all that effort would be for nothing if I let my frustrations continue to bleed into my work life. For the first time, I was beginning to fully understand Steph’s jelly donut metaphor. Suppressing my feelings at home with Pheobe was pushing all the jelly out of my donut at work, and if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up self-destructing. Or worse.

“I need to get my shit under control,” I sighed, dragging a hand down my face.

Bobby nodded, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I hate to say it, but you may benefit from a social orgasm or two,” he said. That was saying a lot, since he disapproved of my sex-based coping almost as much as my parents did. Sure, he’d never said as much, but I knew. His medical background meant that he was acutely aware of how unhealthy it was, what risks were involved both mentally and physically. But he’d never pushed me to give it up, because as a fellow soldier, he knew you couldn’t always control what actions would soothe the anxiety or smother the nightmares. If you found something that worked for you and allowed you to carry on with life in a mostly normal manner, then surely it wasn’t as bad as it looked and sounded, right?

So long as it wasn’t drugs, of course. That was a hard limit. For all of us. Ranger and Tank and the other’s who’d joined us at Rangeman included. Drugs were not a coping method. Even the ones that were prescribed by doctors needed to be treated with the utmost caution.

All this was to say that if Bobby was telling me to go have sex, it probably meant that I’d been an even bigger bitch than I thought. But I couldn’t bring myself to take his advice. Sex is what got me into this mess. I was pretty sure it wasn’t going to get me out of it.

“No can do,” I said flatly, grabbing the binoculars as I spotted movement at the corner of the building.

Bobby inhaled sharply, pressing a hand to his chest. “Do my ears deceive me?” he mocked. “The great Lester Santos, ladies man of ladies men, lover of women, is turning down sex?”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “You make it sound like you were offering,” I pointed out, setting the binoculars back down once I’d confirmed that the movement was nothing more than a cat skulking through the shadows. Not out skip.

“I wasn’t,” he assured me firmly. “Just making a suggestion.”

“Yeah, well,” I shrugged. “Between being engaged to a woman I don’t particularly like or trust right now, and knowing the kind of devastation a cheating partner can wreak on a person’s life, the thought of sex with any one, especially my fiancée, is unappealing.”

“Then we need to find you a way to let off steam before you disable half of Rangeman.” Bobby took another sip of his coffee, contemplating the puzzle I’d presented to him. “You could try out Zip’s High Intensity Interval Training. He’s always bosting about how the intensity and speed doesn’t leave room for outside thoughts.”

It was a decent suggestion, one that I would definitely look into, but… “I was thinking of taking up yoga,” I said jokingly, letting him know without having to say it explicitly, that while I appreciated support, I could really use some non-serious time right now.

He grinned, eyes alight as he fixed his gaze forward. “There’s always aerobics,” he said. “I’m sure we can find you some sweat bands and a Richard Simmons DVD.”

“Bear wrestling is an option, too,” I added.

“You could take up bee keeping.”

“Shark dentistry.”

“Gorilla proctologist.”

“Scrapbooking!”

It continued like that for several minutes, and I was glad for the relaxing effect it had on the tension that had been filling my body. By the time Bobby spotted our man, I was feeling almost normal again.


	22. Chapter 21

** Chapter 21 **

Present

Kenzie’s blinks were getting slower and slower as she leaned heavily into Bobby’s side, and I knew that it was only a matter of minutes before they would drift close and not reopen again. My little girl had had a big, exhausting day, and now that the post-performance adrenaline rush was wearing off, it was all she could do to keep her eyes open as she listened to the quiet conversation carrying out around her.

It had only been an hour since we’d finished our ice-cream sundaes and said goodbye to Abuela and Bo-Bo at the ice-cream parlour so that they could get home in time for a dinner engagement, and was still another hour or so until it would be dinner time, but at this rate she wasn’t going to make it. Which left me with a difficult decision to make. I could either put her to bed early without dinner and pray that she slept through until morning, get her to eat something now so that she could fall asleep and I wouldn’t have to worry about her going hungry, or let her nap until dinner and risk her being full of beans after her short sleep and not want to go to bed.

I crossed the last option off the list almost as soon as it made it on there. No way was I stupid enough to let her recharge her battery this late in the day; I was tired too. Bed without dinner was also not a good idea, unless I wanted to be pouring cereal at three in the morning… again. So, an early dinner was the way to go. Knowing what my little girl was like when she was tired, I excused myself from the group long enough to put together a snack plate of crackers, cheese, deli meats and sliced fruits and vegetables. She was too far gone to be able to stay awake long enough to make something more dinner-like and wouldn’t have managed the meal very well anyway. This way she could eat a few bites here and there to satisfy her stomach and not have to worry about cutlery, or the food going cold. Plus, there was enough there to share with everyone.

“Hey, K-Pop,” Bobby said, gently nudging her into a more upright position as I set the plate down on the coffee table in front of them. “You gotta eat something before you fall asleep on us.”

She mumbled something that sounded like a protest, and rubbed her eyes, stretching briefly before settling against Bobby’s arm again. I’d let her get too settled in sleep land and she wasn’t interested in food. This was always the risk with letting her wind down after a particularly big day. Generally, she was a good eater, but when she was tired like she was now, food became a struggle that she just didn’t see was worth her effort.

“Come on, sweet pea,” I urged, leaning over my friend to hoist her up. “You can’t skip dinner, or your tummy will eat you up overnight.” I tickled said tummy to help wake her up a biit and set her on my knee as I took her place on the couch. She tried to snuggle into my chest as I pulled the plate closer, but I wouldn’t let her. “You need to eat, Kenz.”

“I just want to sleep,” she mumbled, turning her head away.

It took another few minutes of negotiating and tickle-tactics, but I finally managed to wake Kenzie up enough to start nibbling on the food.

“I can’t imagine convincing our child to eat will be this difficult,” Steph pointed out, accepting the cracker and cheese I passed to her when her stomach growled. “If he or she takes after me it’ll be harder to get them to _stop_ eating.”

Ranger just shook his head. “I don’t know,” he replied. “You’ve been known to refuse to wake up even for donuts when you’re exhausted.”

While everyone chuckled at the dichotomy of Steph’s moods, the mention of donuts sparked two reminders in my brain. The first: I should probably remove the tight donut bun from Kenzie’s hair before she went to bed. It didn’t look like the kind of thing that would be comfortable to sleep in, even if it was right on the tip of her head. The second: I needed to discuss Thursday nights with the other people in the room. We’d been holding family dinners in the seventh-floor apartment on Thursday nights since before Phoebe died.

“We need to find a different night for family dinner,” I informed my friends, punctuating my statement with a loud, snapping bite of a carrot stick. “Kenz and I can’t make it anymore.”

Kenzie, whom I had assumed was still out of it and not really taking in anything we were saying, turned to eye me, a slice of ham hanging halfway out of her mouth as her eyebrows drew together. “We can’t?” she asked, pulling the unchewed part of the slice from her mouth. “But I love family dinner. I don’t want to not go!”

I ran a thumb along her forehead, trying to smooth out the little wrinkles from her frown. She was worried that I was taking it away from her along with her dance class friends, which would just be cruel. “I know, Muffin-head,” I said. “Which is why we need to pick a new night for it. We’re not going to miss out on family time, we just can’t do it on Thursdays anymore.”

“Why not?” Ranger asked, leaning forward to retrieve a few more bits and pieces from the snack plate for his wife.

“Did you find a new dance class?” Bobby enquired before I had a chance to explain.

Kenzie was chewing the other half of her ham slice and looking between her uncles and me with interest. I hadn’t had a chance to discuss the changes to her schedule with her yet, apart from confirming that she would not be returning to Miss Moon’s dance school now that the recital was over. I was just about to tell her and everyone else about the hair course when Tank opened his mouth and made it awkward.

“This has to do with that redhead that came and dragged you backstage, doesn’t it?” he asked, putting a whole cracker in his mouth as he grinned at me suggestively.

“Redhead?” Kenzie asked, looking from Tank to me curiously. “Do you mean Miss Grace?”

Tank’s grin widened. “I think that’s what Daddy called her, yeah.” He leaned forward in the armchair he occupied, resting his elbows on his knees as he speared Kenzie with an intense look. “What can you tell me about Miss Grace.”

I squeezed Kenzie close, causing a giggle to escape her. “Don’t tell him anything, Kenz,” I instructed quietly by her ear. “He’s trying to tease Daddy.”

She gasped and crossed her arms over her chest, almost crumbling a cracker in the process, and sent her best glare at Tank. “Don’t tease my Daddy,” she admonished. “Teasing is mean and naughty.”

“You tell ‘im, Kenzie-Boo,” Steph praised around a bit of cucumber she was chewing on. “Don’t let anyone tease your Daddy. He’s been through enough to last him a lifetime. But you should definitely still tell us about Miss Grace,” she added with a grin that matched the big guy’s. “She seemed nice. Is she nice?”

“She’s very nice,” Kenzie announced, and I let out a groan, pressing my face into her back. I should have known they wouldn’t last long before they started in on the inquisition. If I’m honest, I’m surprised they didn’t start questioning me the second I returned from backstage after Kenzie’s bout of nerves.

“She put a rat inside my donut,” Kenzie added, patting the bun still in almost pristine condition despite the hours that had passed since it had been put in place. “And she found Daddy when I was scared. And she fixeded my make ups after. And she stayed with me all the time when we were backstage so I wouldn’t get scared again. She likes cats, not dogs, ‘cause she was bit by one when she was little, and her favourite colour is green. She’s not a mommy, but she is friend’s with Lacey’s mommy. Lacey calls her Auntie Gracie even though they’re not elated, like Uncle Bobby and Uncle Tank. And she does hair all day long. She’s waaaaay better than daddy at it. She went to school to learn how to do hair good.”

Slowly, as my daughter continued to ramble on about what she knew about Grace, I found myself drawn out of my hiding, surprised that she’d found out so much. Kenzie was by no means shy when it came to interacting with new adults. I’d seen her work her magic on grocery store clerks, baristas and a whole host of sales assistants, earning herself little freebies like cookies, stickers and one time, an inflatable beachball, and earning _me_ the benefit of their staff discount. She’d definitely inherited the Santos Charm, and I wasn’t above using it to my advantage in desperate times. We were unstoppable when we had a common goal. But I hadn’t expected her to gather so much information about Grace while she was supposed to be silent backstage between her dances.

“Well, I’m glad you brought up Miss Grace’s hair skills,” I said, swiping the cracker from her hand and shoving it into my own mouth. “Because that’s why we’re not going to be able to do Thursday night family dinners. Miss Grace teaches Daddies like me how to do hair better, and she invited us to come along to her class.”

Ranger, Bobby, and Tank all let out knowing “aahhhh” sounds, managing to infuse all their suggestive comments into the single syllable. I knew what they were thinking. I was taking the class -to get close to Grace to score a date (and maybe something more) with her. But that legitimately wasn’t my main motivation. Dealing with Kenzie’s hair was hard, and now that she was going to school and noticing the other kids hair, she had higher standards of what her own hair should look like when she walked out the door in the morning. So, we had to get better at it. And if I got to spend an hour or so looking at a beautiful woman in the process, then what was the harm in that?

“Is she going to teach you how to use the donut-rats?” Kenzie asked, pointing to her bun again. I got the impression that she really liked the way her hair looked today, so I hoped it would be part of the Daddy-Daughter-Dos curriculum. If not, I may have to request some private tutoring.

“Maybe,” I hedged. “We’ll find out on Thursday. But for now, can we ask Auntie Steph to take the donut-rat out of your hair before you start falling asleep again?” I probably could have done it myself, but the twisty pin things Grace had used were a little out of my realm of confidence when it came to hair.

Kenzie nibbled thoughtfully on a strawberry, while stroking the slick hair of her bun with her free hand. “You got photos of it?” she asked, and I nodded. “Okay,” she agreed, sliding off my lap and going to sit on the floor in front of Steph.

We chatted for a while longer, discussing the schedule change and possible solutions, and tentatively organising a day to celebrate Bobby’s upcoming birthday. And by the time Kenzie had hugged her aunt and all her uncles and we were waving goodbye to them from the porch as they drove off down the street, she was yawning widely again, her head resting on my shoulder as I held her propped on my hip.

“I think it might be bedtime, Chicken-Pop,” I told her, smoothing a few pieces of hair away from her face.

“Teeth first, Daddy,” she mumbled, clinging a little tighter to me as I carried her back inside, locked the door and set the alarm.

“Teeth first,” I agreed with a soft smile.

Five minutes later, we had our teeth brushed, our faces washed, our pyjamas on, and Kenzie was tucked securely into bed with her teddy while I lay on top of the covers beside her. The activity of preparing for bed had roused her slightly, but as we lay there quietly in the dimly lit room, her eyelids fluttered, struggling more and more to open back up each time she blinked. Sleep wasn’t too far off.

“I’m so proud of you, McKenzie,” I whispered as her breathing began to slow. “You were so brave and confident today.”

She didn’t open her eyes, but she did turn her head to press a kiss to my arm. “I’m proud of you too, Daddy,” she replied slowly. “You’re a good Daddy. The bestest.”

A warm glow filled me up at her words. I was so incredibly lucky to have a kid like McKenzie who was always so willing to do the right thing and was learning every day to love and appreciate those whom she cared about. The powers that be had done me a huge favour when they’d decided to add her to my life, despite how it may have looked and felt when I’d first found out Phoebe was pregnant, because it was only with the distance of time and the acknowledgement of how full my heart was with love for this kid, that I realised how truly lonely I’d been before. I’d thought myself happy to be carefree and able to engage in all the one night stands I wanted, but knowing what I know now, both how that phase of my life had exploded back in my face, and that I would end up with such an angel of a daughter to fill my life up with meaning, I could never go back. Not even fighting for the protection of my country – something that I previously would have thought was one of my greatest achievements – came close to the feeling of knowing that my daughter was proud of me.

“I’m glad you think so, Muffin-head,” I murmured.

“Can you tell me more about Mommy, please?” she asked, still keeping her eyes closed. “What happened after you moved in? Did you start getting along?”

I sighed. Of course, she was never too tired for a bedtime story. “The next thing that happened after Daddy moved in with Mommy,” I started, stretching my arms up behind my head. The story would have to be short tonight, because the next _major_ thing to happen, the catalyst for Phoebe and I actually getting along, was not the kind of thing I wanted to discuss at bedtime when she was already ninety percent asleep. “Was that Bo-Bo found the crib that he’d built for me when I was a baby, fixed it up, and brought it over so that we could use it for you when you were born.”

“Was I born yet?” she asked

I shook my head. “Not yet, sweets,” I said. “But we were setting up your room so it would be ready for you, and Abuela and Bo-Bo thought it would be nice if you could have a special crib.”

“Why was it special?” she yawned.

“Bo-Bo made it all by himself,” I explained. “He bought some wood, and cut, and measured, and attached them all together until he’d made a crib for Daddy to sleep in. And when he learned that you were going to come along, he decided to fix it up, give it a fresh coat of paint, and bring it over.”

“Did you like the crib?”

“I loved the crib,” I said, smiling at the memory of my father showing up unexpectedly in Tío Ricardo’s pick up with my crib in the back, looking better than new after the beating I’d given it as a toddler. “And so did you.”

She was silent so long, her eyes still closed, and her breathing slow and even, that I thought she’d crossed over into dreamland. I waited a couple of minutes, just to be sure, before carefully levering myself off the bed. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, I’d made it halfway to the door when her little voice mumbled out one final, sleepy question. “Did mommy like it?”

“It grew on her,” I said honestly. “Goodnight, Kenzie.”

Quietly closing the door behind me, I made my way to my own bedroom, and opened my sock drawer, pulling out that same onesie I’d discovered the first day I’d moved back in. Kenzie had only ever worn it once: the first time Phoebe had consented to leaving me alone with the baby when she needed to run an errand. She’d been stressed and haggard, and I’d convinced her to take some time for herself and get a pedicure while she was out. Then, once she’d left, I’d guided McKenzie’s body parts into the appropriately labelled holes and had a very serious talk with my four-week-old daughter about how I was counting on her to help me through everything that life would throw our way because I didn’t think I’d be able to do it without her. Her baby burbling must have been an agreement because she’d never let me down yet. And every time I needed a boost, I pulled out the onesie and reminded myself of all the times Kenzie had proved to be my biggest cheerleader.

 _Dad, you got this_.

I smiled at the words, swiping my thumb over the small stain on the shoulder from when she’d spit up during our talk. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Kenzie the next part of the story, because I knew what a worrywart she was, but it needed to be done. It was a big turning point in my and Phoebe’s relationship, so I’d just have to emphasise the good things that had come from the event. Sending up a silent prayer of strength and thanks, I rolled the onesie back up, tucked it back amongst the socks, and went to find myself a proper dinner while I planned how to minimise Kenzie’s distress during the next part of the tale of her mother.


	23. Chapter 22

** Chapter 22 **

Past

I pulled my SUV into the garage next to Phoebe’s little white hatchback and breathed a disappointed sigh as I lowered my head to the steering wheel. Of course, I couldn’t count on Phoebe to have decided to go out after work just this one time. Not today or all days. It was just the way my shit luck was going.

From the second my alarm went off this morning, I knew it was going to be a terrible day, because there were at least seven small men with pickaxes mining for diamonds inside my skull. I hadn’t let it deter me from expending some of the pent up energy I constantly had coursing through me these days, though, and proceeded out the door for my usual run. The activity hadn’t done my headache any favours, but the post-run extended shower had worked it’s magic and relieved some of the tension in my neck and shoulders. Until I’d stepped out of the shower and realised that I’d wasted so much time in there that I now didn’t have time for breakfast if I wanted to be on time for work.

Ella always provided grab and go breakfast options in the break room, so I’d just eat when I got to work. No big deal, though, right?

Wrong.

I barely managed to put the SUV in park in the Rangeman parking garage before Bobby was practically diving into the passenger seat, typing an address into the onboard computer and telling me to drive.

“What the fuck?” I asked him once I had us back out on the street and following the GPS instructions to a house in Hamilton Township.

“An alert just came through control,” he explained. “Steph’s panic button was activated.”

“I thought she hated that thing and refused to wear it,” I pointed out, wincing as I took a hard left and my head throbbed. I really should have taken the extra moment to take something for my headache.

Bobby shrugged. “I don’t know, man. Maybe Ranger wrote it into the prenup or something. Point is, the alert came through and she’s not answering her phone, so we’re riding to the rescue.”

I spared my best friend and partner a glance, that told him everything he needed to know about how worried I was about this particular call out. “Ranger?”

“Opposite end of town in a meeting, but I’m sure he’s received the alert as well,” he answered my abbreviated question. “If it’s at all possible to get away, I’m sure he’s breaking every traffic law there is to get there ASAP.”

I shook my head, which was a terrible idea at the moment. “It’s only just gone nine, Bobby,” I said, trying to determine if the pain building in my gut was worry or hunger. Both, probably. “What she doing out and about?”

She’d been getting up earlier since moving in with Ranger on the seventh floor almost a year ago, but even then the most I’d ever seen her achieve before oh-nine-hundred was a donut run, and maybe a computer search or two if she was feeling ambitious. The world wasn’t reading for Morning Steph, and possibly, Steph wasn’t ready for the morning world. This call out had the potential to prove both points. 

As it turns out, Steph had _thought_ she was ready to take out the morning world today. She’d apparently woken with a burst of inspiration and great deal more motivation than usual, and decided to go after her latest screwball skip. The skip hadn’t appreciated the early morning drop in, and had retaliated by chasing Steph down the sidewalk with a kitchen knife. Steph managed to get away easily enough, thanks to the lack of fitness of her would be attacker, but by the time she’d circled back to her car, the tyres were slashed and she’d lost her phone somewhere along the way. The panic button had been her solution to calling for a lift.

She was in the passenger seat of the gunmetal grey SUV Ranger had bought her as an engagement gift, with the back all the down so that she was barely noticeable to passers-by and skips peering out through windows. We were obviously relieved that she was fine, but the pain in my gut and the headache still sitting at the base of my skull wasn’t feeling especially sympathetic. She’d sprung for apology donuts on the way back to Rangeman though, so I couldn’t stay mad at her for long.

With food in my stomach and Steph safely ensconced within the Rangeman building once more, I was feeling better, especially since Bobby had handed over a pair of tablets to dull the pain in my head. But the day wasn’t done with me yet. Bobby and I were called out another three times to various issues with security systems of local businesses and happened to run across Steph again in the afternoon while we were cruising around looking for one of our own skips. We’d stopped to give her a hand, which had ended with all three of us splattered in mayonnaise and sandwich meat. Apparently, Steph’s day hadn’t improved either.

Now, I was exhausted, and rancid, and my headache was back, hammering away diligently. The last thing I wanted to do was walk into my house and endure one of Phoebe’s rants because – I don’t know – I’d put the milk back in the fridge the wrong way or some shit. The woman could find fault with anything if you gave her half a chance. But I needed a shower and some serious down time and I’d offered up my apartment to a new recruit who’d fallen on hard times, so I was left with no other option but to coexist with my fiancée.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I raised my head from the steering wheel, grabbed the meatball sub I’d picked up off the passenger seat and finally slid out from behind the wheel. Time to face the music, I thought to myself, knowing that there was approximately a forty percent chance she would ambush me the second I stepped through the door, like she’d heard me pull in and dropped what she was doing to greet me with her daily list of grievances. I paused in the mudroom, listening for the tell-tale signs of an approaching angry woman, but the house was silent.

Thank god for small miracles.

I ate my sub over the sink, not wanting to transfer any residual scunge onto the furniture and took my half-finished beer with me to the bathroom while I showered. Phoebe still hadn’t made an appearance by the time I’d emerged, squeaky clean and dressed in some soft, comfortable pants and an old army t-shirt that was worn in just the right amount. I took the opportunity to accommodate my mood and decided not to lock myself away in my room like I usually would have, choosing instead to actually enjoy the massive TV I’d paid for, and settled on the couch with another beer to watch whatever sport I flipped onto first so long as it involved a ball or a puck.

An hour later, I was finally starting to feel relaxed, my head tipped back on the couch during an ad break when the peace I’d been revealing in was finally broken. Typical that she would wait until I’d let my guard down before slinking out of her lair to attack.

I listened to her soft footsteps approach down the hall, stopping when she reached the doorway to the living room. _Please just leave me alone for one goddamned night,_ I thought, keeping my eyes closed in the hopes that she would assume I was asleep and summon up the decency to let me rest.

“Lester?”

I would have cursed, possibly even out loud, had it not been for the tremble in her voice. My eyes snapped open, my body on high alert. Something wasn’t right. She was pale, and sweaty, tears tracking down her cheeks, and she was clutching her stomach almost desperately.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, already on my feet and making a mental plan for everything that would need to be done before we could be out the door and on the way to the hospital.

“I think something’s wrong with the baby,” she moaned, doubling over a little more. “There’s so much pain.”

I didn’t even think, just sprang into action. It wasn’t exactly the kind of emergency I’d specifically trained for, but the basic instincts were the same: get help as soon as possible. And I’d been Bobby’s partner long enough that medical emergencies were pretty much second nature to me now. I’d learned a lot about the typical stab and bullet wounds, and broken bones we dealt with on a regular basis, but none of the guys had ever been pregnant before, so this was entirely beyond me. The best I could do was remain calm and reassure Phoebe that everything would be alright.

I hoped.

I wasn’t particularly fond of the woman as a person, given the way she’d been acting recently, but I’d had for something to happen to her or the baby she’d wanted so desperately that she’d allowed her entire life to implode, catching min in the fallout. No one deserved that kind of cruelty.

My gaze drifted to the sock drawer as I snatched my wallet off the dresser. I could almost hear the onesie inside calling out to me. _Dad, you got this!_ I certainly hoped so. Taking a breath, I nodded to myself, and continued on my pre-programmed flight, grabbing Phoebe’s purse from her room and stuffing my feet into my runners while snatching both our jackets from the hooks by the garage door. By the time I made it to the SUV, she was in the passenger seat, moaning lightly as she braced herself on the dash. The door was still open and she wasn’t strapped in.

“Are you nauseas?” I asked as I eased her back in the seat far enough that I could secure the seatbelt in place.

“Mmm,” she moaned again, nodding rhythmically as she pressed against her lower abdomen again.

Taking the long way around the car, I jumped in behind the wheel, handing Phoebe the vomit bag I’d retrieved from the first aid kit in the trunk and backing out of the garage at speed. I used every defensive driving technique and short cut I knew to shave almost half the travel time off what should have been a twenty-minute trip to St. Francis. With the ER entrance in sight, my instinct was to not slow down until the last possible second and slam on the breaks, ensuring we got to our destination as quickly as possible. But the cry of pain Phoebe had let out when I’d taken the first speed bump a tad too fast gave me pause. It took all my control to ease calmly to a stop.

I helped her inside, spoke to the nurse on duty, and filled in her details on the form we were given as quickly as possible, returning it to the window when I was done. When I moved to make my way back to her side, my eyes caught on the SUV through the plate glass window. It couldn’t stay there.

“I’m just going to move the car,” I told Phoebe, pausing by her side.

She’d had her head down, probably concentrating on her breathing in an attempt to lessen the pain, but it snapped up at my words. “Please don’t leave me,” she pleaded, sheer terror filling her expression. One of her hands shot out and latched onto mine. “Please, Lester.”

“I just need to park the car properly and then I’ll be right back,” I assured her gently, squeezing her hand. “I promise.”

She didn’t look convinced, not that I could blame her at this point. With the way things had been between us, I would have been well within my rights to just dump her at the door and get back to the game she’d interrupted. But that wasn’t my nature. She was scared and in pain, and she was the mother of my child. I had to make sure they were both okay, so I dug my wallet out of the flimsy pocket of my lounge pants and slipped a laminated piece of card out of one of the card slots, handing it to her. “My mother gave me this the first time I shipped out,” I explained. “It’s the prayer she says every night to keep me safe. I never go anywhere without it. It’s done three tours in the sandbox with me and countless government missions. I’ll be back for it in a few minutes, but maybe it can keep you safe while I’m gone?”

She nodded, closing her fingers around the card and pressing it to her abdomen with a grimace. “Did you have it when you got that scar on your stomach?” she asked when I took my first step away from her.

I smiled grimly, acknowledging that this was a test of the card’s validity and that the answer could very well lower her belief in its power. I had, indeed, had the card with me when I’d basically been gutted on a mission, but by rights, I should have died from that wound. I didn’t have concrete evidence that it was the power of the card of Mama’s prayers that kept me alive, but I had faith. “It doesn’t stop things from happening,” I explained. “Just makes sure you get through it to the other side so you can make it home again.”

She looked uncertain as she stared down at my mother’s handwriting. “Do you think it’ll work for me as well?” she asked so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.

“You’re carrying a part of me inside you,” I said. “I’m sure Mama’s prayers extend to keeping the baby safe as well. And in order to keep the baby safe, you also need to be safe. Okay?”

“Okay.”

I nodded, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll be right back.”

On my way back to the ER after moving the car to the parking complex across the street, I called Bobby, because it didn’t feel right to be at the hospital and for him not to know about it, even if I wasn’t the patient. Even if he wasn’t the company medic, he was my best friend, and I would have kept him informed anyway.

“What’s up, Les?” he answered, picking up on the third ring.

“I’m at the hospital,” I told him flatly.

A muttered curse travelled down the line and I could hear him moving around his apartment, gathering his things to rush out the door as was standard protocol both on the bro-code and for Rangeman. “Shit, man, is it your head still?” he said. “You should have said something if it was that bad, I could have given you something stronger for it.”

“It’s not me,” I said, though my head _was_ beginning to throb again now that the adrenaline rush the emergency trip was wearing off. “It’s Phoebe. She’s having pains. She thinks something’s wrong with the baby.”

Another swear word left his mouth, but I could tell that his movements had slowed. Phoebe wasn’t on payroll, so he wasn’t required to be here – not that my head would have required him anyway since it was unrelated to work – and on top of that, he knew next to nothing about babies and pregnancy, so he’d be useless. Probably he was trying to figure out if he should continue with his first instinct to meet me at the hospital, or if that would just be a source of irritation for Phoebe. It was anyone’s guess at this point, but I didn’t think she was in any state to be annoyed right now. “What did the doctors say?” he asked.

I shrugged even though he couldn’t see me. “She hasn’t seen them yet,” I said. “We only just got here. I’m walking back to the ER after parking the car.”

Bobby’s sigh crackled down the line. “How are you holding up?” And this was ultimately why I’d called. Because I had no idea how I was holding up. There were so many conflicting thoughts running through my head that I didn’t know what to feel. On the surface the phone call was a courtesy to my friend and colleague to keep him informed so that he’d be aware of the situation if I had to take time off work. But digging a little deeper, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit that a part of me was hoping that he’d be able to help me sort out my feelings on the matter of my fiancée’s medical emergency and what that might mean for the baby and my life in general.

Despite myself, I gave another shrug. “I don’t know what to feel right now, man,” I admitted. “She’s a pain in my ass, but the second she said there was something wrong with the baby…” I kicked a rock in my path, trying to sort through the jumbled emotions still coursing through me. “I don’t know.”

“Do you need me to come to the hospital?” he questioned, always the good medic.

I shook my head, pausing as I reached the bright lights of the emergency room driveway. “Not necessary,” I said on a sigh. Having him wasn’t going to magically going to make everything clearer, and he’d just be twiddling his thumbs along with me. “I’ll text you as soon as we know anything.” 


	24. Chapter 23

** Chapter 23 **

Present

Kenzie stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide and brows drawn so that that little worry line was starting to make an appearance as she stared up at me. The bundle of clothes she’d been carrying from the bathroom hamper to the laundry dropped from her arms to pile in front of her. She hadn’t wanted to help with the chores, claiming she was too tired from the recital yesterday and the trip to the library this morning, so I’d had to coerce her with the promise of more Mommy Story while we worked. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping the distraction of busy work would lessen the blow of finding out her mother had been ill enough to need a hospital, but apparently it hadn’t worked as well as I would have liked.

Most of Kenzie’s experience with hospitals was second hand, hearing about how myself or one of her Uncles had been hurt on the job and needed to go to the hospital to get fixed up because Bobby couldn’t do it himself, but only a handful of those times the injury had been severe enough for the person to be admitted overnight, so to her view it was just like a trip to the doctor. That had changed, though, when Mama had landed herself in hospital with pneumonia last year. Seeing her Abuela lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to machines and tubes had been so scary for four-year-old McKenzie that she could barely stand to be in the room at first.

We’d had a lot of talks about what the machines were, what the doctors were doing to help Mama, and how being in the hospital was best place for her to be. She’d been worried that Mama was going to die, which had, of course, sparked our very first Difficult Conversation: _What happens when you die?_

Thankfully, Mama had recovered well and was back at home before too long, but ever since, Kenzie’s worry skyrocketed anytime someone had to go to the hospital. And even though the hospital trip we were talking about now had happened five years ago, before she was born, her reaction was no different.

“Was Mommy okay?” she asked, her breathing picking up as she twisted her hands together. “Was the baby okay?”

The only thing that kept me from laughing at her question was the fact that she was getting worked up. I hated to see her like this. My happy little girl shouldn’t ever need feel the level of apprehension she was displaying now, but I knew it was a work in progress to ease her anxiety about hospitals. Bobby was proving a big help on that front with his medical background, but it was still a long road before she’d be fully comfortable.

“Honey, Baby, Chicken-Pop,” I soothed, letting go of the door I’d been holding open for her and kicking the pile of dirty clothes she’d dropped out of the way so I could take a knee in front of her, gripping her hands in mine. “Of course, the baby was okay,” I assured her. “You were the baby in Mommy’s tummy, remember? And you’re okay, aren’t you?”

She nodded silently, but still looked uncertain about the prospect of her mother being in hospital. “What about Mommy?” she insisted, not missing the fact that I hadn’t mentioned her fate yet. Details oriented as always.

“Mommy was okay,” I assured her, and explained about lending Phoebe the Mama’s prayer card. Kenzie had learned about the card during the time Mama had been in the hospital last year. I’d shown it to her to when she’d been upset from seeing Mama the first time. After hearing about how Mama had given it to me to keep me safe, we’d sat down together and made a similar card to give to Mama to keep her safe at the hospital and to help her feel better. There were lots of love hearts and butterflies because _‘that’s what makes Abuela happy’_. Later that day I’d been putting dishes away in the kitchen while Kenzie was playing in the living room when she’d suddenly appeared beside me with another card, this one for me. And I’m man enough to admit that I got a little choked up at the thoughtfulness of this amazing kid I was raising. The pink slip of paper was covered in hearts and smiley faces, and her shaky four-year-old handwriting had managed to spell out the words “Daddy”, “Safe”, “Love”, and “Kenzie” from looking at some of her favourite books and copying the letters.

“What was wrong with Mommy?” she asked now as we moved to continue putting on a load of laundry. She was calmer now, knowing that the prayer card had been protecting her and that she’d made it through okay, but I knew I had to get through the rest quickly and focus on the end result if I wanted to avoid further upset.

“Well, the doctors did some tests and scans trying to figure it out,” I said, opening the hatch on the washing machine and indicating for her to start tossing the clothes in. “They were worried that it might be the baby as well, at first. But when they figured out that you were fine, they realised that it was Mommy’s appendix.”

Kenzie’s eyes narrowed, the frown returning to scrunch up her features as she slowly lowered the pair of pants she’d picked up into the machine. “Mommy’s what?” she questioned.

I was relieved to note that her confusion was overriding the worry at least for the time being, but this part of the story was likely to upset her again. _Just gotta push through_. “Her appendix,” I said. And before she had a chance to asked any of the follow up question I knew were brewing in her mind, I pressed on to explain. “It’s a little organ inside your tummy right about here.” I poked her lower right side of her stomach to show her the approximate location. “No one really knows what it does, but sometimes it gets infected and it has to be removed.”

“Removed how?” she asked, the worry edging back into her voice as she rubbed the spot I’d made contact with.

Pushing her hair – which was especially crazy today thanks to the kinks left in it from yesterday’s donut-bun – behind her ears so I could lay my hands on her cheeks. “With surgery, sweet pea,” I told her gently. “They had to make a little cut and take the appendix out, and stitch it back up again. But,” I continued before she could get too bogged down in those details (just because she’d been aware of countless minor surgeries that me and the guys had undergone did not mean that the idea of being cut open and stitched closed again didn’t give her cause for concern). “Once it was out and the cut started to heal, Mommy felt _much_ better.”

“Mummy was okay?” she checked, wrapping her fingers around my wrists to pull my hands down enough that they rested on her shoulders instead of her face.

I nodded solemnly. “Mommy was okay,” I confirmed. “In fact, Mommy was _great.”_ And as we finished putting the clothes in the machine, poured the detergent in and set it to going, I explained about how after the trip to the hospital Phoebe and I had finally managed to find a way to get along. Things had settled down while she was recovering, and we’d fallen into a routine that seemed to work for both of us.

“And not long after Mommy was healthy again,” I said, lifting her up to sit on top of the washing machine once it was filling with water. “Mommy was finally allowed to marry daddy, so I organised it all and we got married.”

“Finally!” she cried, throwing her arms around my neck to hug me tightly in her excitement. “And _then_ did they live happily ever after?” she asked, leaning back ever so slightly so that she could look me in the eye from about an inch away. I could smell the peanut butter on her breath from lunch.

I thought back to the events directly after the wedding, noting that it had definitely been a bump in the road to happiness, but there was no way I could possibly tell her the specifics of that particular situation. She was too young to know about the specifics of what adults who were newly married did. And I wasn’t about to tell her that those acts had caused a bit of a setback in the amicable relationship we’d created.

“Still not there yet, Muffin-head,” I said, receiving a disappointed sigh in reply.


	25. Chapter 24

** Chapter 24 **

Past

The burn in my chest from physical exertion was starting to rival the increasing pain in my hands as I continued to beat on the punching bag. It was Sunday morning, oh-six-hundred and the gym was empty but for me, which was virtually unheard of. Usually, there were up to six men in here working out and any given time, day or night. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they’d cleared out specifically to avoid me. I paused my blows, rolling a shoulder, and acknowledged that maybe I _didn’t_ know better. It wasn’t like I’d been particularly kind on my colleagues of late, what with all the men I’d pummelled on the mats. Zip’s HIIT work outs had been working okay at keeping my excess energies down, but when things were tense with Phoebe, they weren’t good enough.

Thinking of Phoebe had me doubling down on the bag, but for once I didn’t think I was doing it to punish her. No, this workout was about me. About my fuck up. My control. My self-preservation. A yell, wrenched itself from my throat and I socked the bag with all my strength. It swung away, and I was breathing hard, preparing for its return journey when a soft click alerted me to the fact that I was no longer alone.

I glanced over my shoulder to catalogue the new body in the space, but froze when I found Steph approaching slowly, hesitantly across the gym floor. My inattention cost me the fight with the punching bag. It almost knocked me over as it collided with chest, winding me slightly, but it was all I could do to stare at the woman who’d entered my space. _Not a smart move, Beautiful_ , I thought, steadying the bag and turning to face her.

“Steph?” The single syllable was ragged, feeling like a razor blade as it cut itself out of my throat as I tried to suck in oxygen. “What’s wrong?”

She stopped two metres away and crossed her arms under her breasts, bringing my attention to the fact that she was wearing what appeared to be one of Ranger’s work shirts, and a pair of silk boxers – possibly also Rangers. Her hair was piled on top of her head in that way I’d only ever seen her do when she was in for the night, or first thing in the morning before she’d had a chance to shower. “They sent me because I’m the last person you’d drag into the ring,” she explained, stifling a yawn.

“What?” I blinked, confused by her statement. “Of course, I wouldn’t try to spar with you. That’s insane. You’d get hurt. I could never hurt you.”

She nodded. “Exactly. That’s why they sent me.”

I narrowed my eyes at her briefly before cutting my gaze to the security camera in the corner of the ceiling. “They?”

“Carlos, Tank, and Bobby,” she explained easily enough, lifting a shoulder in a ‘what can you do?’ kind of gesture. “They’re watching the feed from Bobby’s office down the hall in case something happens, and they need to intervene.”

I clenched my fists at my side to stop myself from lashing out at the bag again, and let out a muttered curse instead. “Steph, I’d never do anything to hurt you!” I told her emphatically. “I can’t believe my cousin thinks I would-“

“I know,” she said calmly, cutting me off. “And so do they. It’s just a precaution. Sending me in to talk to you _is_ them intervening. They’re worried you’ll hurt yourself if you keep going like this.”

Reflexively, I stretched out my fingers, feeling the ache the movement caused in my knuckles. The action wasn’t lost on Steph as she followed it with interest, her gaze softening some as it returned to my face. “You already did, didn’t you?” she questioned, taking a single step forward. She wasn’t a touchy, feely, hug it out kind of person, but I could tell she wanted to do something to take away the pain I’d inflicted on myself. Most of the time her protective instincts where myself and the other Rangemen were concerned was adorable, to think that this scrap of a woman thought she could best anyone who might want to cause us harm, but in the current situation, it made my chest ache because I was fairly certain that my own wife wouldn’t care as much as Steph did that I’d managed to hurt myself during a workout.

“It’s fine,” I told her, beginning to unwrap the strapping I’d at least had the forethought to apply before I started the bag and my mutual punishment, and avoiding eye contact. “It’s nothing,” I added for good measure, stopping myself just short of adding a third statement of the same kind, because saying something three times made it a lie. “What are they hoping you can achieve that they can’t?” I asked to divert her attention.

Steph blew out a sigh, rubbing her face in that way she does when she’s still tired. There was no doubt in my mind that Ranger had woken her up specifically for this task, the coward. “My main job was just to get you to stop,” she explained, gesturing to the bag. “So…”

I nodded. “Achievement unlocked,” I confirmed. “What’s next?”

“I guess we talk?”

My eyebrow raised of its own accord as I eyeballed her once more. “About our feelings?” I asked, feeling a laugh bubbling against the tension in my gut.

She rolled her eyes and plonked down onto a nearby bench. “Yours to be exact,” she pointed out.

A smile tugged at the corners of my lips, and I propped my hands on my hips, continuing to stare at her. I was losing my second fight of the morning. First the punching bag, now the laugh. But this one I didn’t so much mind submitting to. It felt nice. Good. Freeing. “They really sent _you_ in for the feelings talk?” I asked.

Her hands came up in a half shrug. “You would have tried to fight anyone else that stepped through that door,” she pointed out seriously, though she, too, was starting to loosen up. And perhaps wake up as well. Ranger was a despicable man for getting her up at this hour, knowing full well that her body clock wouldn’t have eased her out of her slumber for another hour and a half. I hoped he was going to pay her his special brand of compensation later.

That clipped the wings of my humour enough to wipe the smile off my face. I crossed to sit beside her, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees so that I’d have to look over my shoulder to meet her eyes. “You have a point,” I agreed. “Where should we start?”

“Well,” she said, nudging my shoulder with her own. “Usually I would recommend starting with a beer, but since it’s only six _A.M._ , maybe coffee and donuts would be better?”

I nodded my agreement with her plan, it was the least I could do for being the reason she’d been pulled from her bed this morning. “I’ll grab a shower, you go get dressed properly – unless you’re happy to head out as is,” I added hands up defensively in case she took offense to my statement. “And I’ll meet you in the garage in twenty?”

“Just me?” she asked slowly, another yawn escaping her. “Or do you want the others to join us?”

Averting my gaze to the punching bag, I took a moment to think over what I was likely to reveal during the little chat we had in front of us, and decided that maybe having the guys there wasn’t the best idea. The public setting of the Tasty Pastry would probably prevent me from railing on them to get out some of the frustrations I could still feel swirling through my nervous system, but I also wasn’t looking forward to the look of disappointment on Ranger’s face when he learned what had occurred, or the sympathy in Bobby’s eye. And Tank, well, he probably would have been okay, given that he had less of a vested interest in my actions. He wasn’t family with a responsibility to keep me safe no matter the threat, and he wasn’t my best friend with the self-appointed task of ensuring mental wellbeing along with the physical. He was just Tank, and he cared, but not on the same level.

Still, it might be refreshing to get Steph’s take on things. “Just you, I think,” I said, pushing to my feet.

She nodded like she’d already figured out what I was going to say before I’d said it. Which, since she’d been spending so much more time with Ranger in the last year, wouldn’t surprise me if she had. Steph tended to absorb skills through osmosis so long as it didn’t require physical practice. “Okay,” she said, standing beside me.

I threw an arm around her shoulder in a half hug. “Thanks, Beautiful,” I said, meaning every letter.

My sincerity was lost on her, though, thanks to my current post-workout state. She shoved me away with a well-placed elbow to my ribs and a grimace. “Eww!” she exclaimed. “You’re so sweaty! Go shower!”

I gave her a mock salute, unable to contain the grin that had claimed my features once more, and jogged off toward the locker room to follow orders. Steph was so easy to be around, I acknowledged on my way to wash off the sweat. She understood the way we operated, the honour code we lived by, and she didn’t judge us for our actions, even when she didn’t understand the reasoning behind them. My cousin had lucked out when Steph had finally decided to stop hedging her bets between him and the cop. If only I’d been afforded the same kind of courtesy when Phoebe had decided she wanted a baby and decided to take matters into her own hands, fusing our lives together.

*o*

Forty minutes later we were installed at a table in the corner of the Tasty Pastry each with a takeaway cup of coffee and with a box of donuts between us. I had no doubts that Steph would be consuming the lion’s share of the dozen, but given my current state of turmoil, I couldn’t guarantee that I would stop at my usual one and done. Nothing else I’d tried had worked on the heightened ambient stress levels in my body, so maybe I needed to take a page out of Steph’s book and try sugar instead. I _had_ likened my state to her Jelly Donut Hormones theory after all.

We were silent as Steph ate her first donut. It seemed like the least I could do to not interrupt her communion with the sugar gods at this hour of the morning. When she took a sip of coffee and picked up her second without prompting me to discuss the issues that had lead to my brutal workout this morning, though, I took matters into my own hands. Steph had done well to diffuse the situation, but my doubt over Ranger’s choice to send her in for the _feelings_ talk was not unwarranted. She owned property in Denial Land.

“I had sex with Phoebe,” I announced without preamble, taking the ‘ripping off a Band-Aid’ approach to getting my problems off my chest and out in the air.

I realised my mistake al,most immediately as Steph, who had just taken a large bite of her second donut, began to choke. Maybe I’d been a little too blunt. This was Steph, after all, not one of the guys. They were used to taking blunt statements without reaction from years in the military, but Steph didn’t have the same control over her reactions.

“Yes,” she gasped out after struggling for several moments and guzzling half the bottle of water the shop assistant set down in front of her. “The physical evidence of that is becoming quite hard to miss,” she pointed out.

She wasn’t wrong. Phoebe was now six months along, and while she’d been growing steadily over the three months since she’d told me she was pregnant, but a couple weeks after the appendectomy, she’d just _popped_ , going from a gentle curve of a belly to that iconic beachball shape seemingly overnight. Since we’d been getting along Phoebe had been included in a few group dinners at Shorty’s where everyone marvelled not only at her size increase since they last glimpsed her, but at the fact that she tended to share Ranger’s preferences for food choices. This did not, however, contribute to a bonding experience for the pair as Phoebe went on to complain about preservatives, and other apparently hidden evils in processed foods. Ranger just preferred fresh greens to grease.

I shook my head. “No, I slept with her again,” I explained, staring down at my coffee. “Last night.”

Steph snorted out a laugh and leaned an elbow on the table. “That makes sense,” she pointed out. “Since you just got married yesterday.”

I didn’t think it was as cut and dry as she made it out to be, clearly, or I wouldn’t have been beating up innocent punching bags on my first morning as a married man. My parents had always talked about the pure bliss that came with them finally tying the knot, and while I never thought I’d be the kind of person to go in for marriage in the first place, a small part of my brain had been holding on to that tidbit of information like a lifeline, and now that I was married to Phoebe and my feelings hadn’t miraculously changed toward her, that small part was rioting.

“It was a mistake,” I pointed out.

She did that thing that she does with her face when she’s trying desperately to raise a single eyebrow that always made me smile. “The marriage or the sex?” she clarified when her attempts failed just as they always did. It was a valid question. I’d made a lot of mistakes in the last six months. Hell, in the last twenty-four hours.

“Both probably,” I said with a shrug, then shook my head as I thought about it some more. “No. The marriage is to protect the baby. I can’t call that a mistake. But the sex! The sex was definitely a mistake. I was weak. Desperate. I’ve been staving off the need with workouts, but I just… it wasn’t working. I was overwhelmed and she needed help getting her dress off and I just…” I trailed off, letting the despair steal the end of my sentence.

“Slept with your wife?” Steph guessed the ending.

I sent her a half-hearted glare. “Yes.”

She nodded, chewing on her donut thoughtfully and avoiding eye contact for several minutes. I did the same, knowing that she needed processing time. She was a whiz at solving mysteries and finding hidden details that no one else saw, so I was hoping that she could work her magic on my life. Several minutes passed as she finished her donut and took a few mouthfuls of coffee, her eyes sliding to me with that calculating look she got sometimes when she was planning. “How long had it been since you… ya know?” she finally asked, setting down her coffee, and folding her hands on the table, probably to help control her reaction if my reply turned out to be outrageous.

“Last time I had sex before last night was before she told me she was pregnant,” I said evenly, having no qualms about sharing these details with my friend. She’d probably heard a lot worse about me from the other Rangemen over the years.

Her jaw dropped to the table at my words, proving that she’d made the right choice not to have anything in her mouth while waiting for my answer. “That long?!” she questioned loudly. Then, realising that she was drawing attention from the staff, lowered her voice to continue. “But… Carlos said you use sex as a coping mechanism?”

I nodded.

She shook her head in disbelief. “So, you’ve been carrying around all this extra tension and anger and haven’t been able to release it?”

“Yup,” I said, popping the ‘p’ as I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “Not for lack of trying, though,” I added, when I caught sight of my bruised knuckles curled over my bicep.

I got the impression Steph was amazed and concerned as she paused for thought once more, mumbling to herself and shaking her head. Probably, she was comparing my dry spell to who own experiences and wondering how I was even still alive if I’d been relying on that pleasurable social release for so long prior to this whole debacle. I’d had similar thoughts over the last three months.

When Steph started speaking again, it was as if she was continuing on from a thought that had been listing the events and consequences in her mind. “And then you married a woman you don’t like and-“ I opened my mouth to protest, but she cut me off before I could form a sound. “You don’t have to pretend to deny it, Lester,” she said gently. “Would you really have been beating yourself up on the gym equipment the morning after your wedding if you loved her?”

I sighed. She had a point, but- “I shouldn’t hat my wife, Steph,” I groaned.

She laid a hand on top of mine in an impossibly compassionate gesture, and I almost lost it. Whatever I did to deserve her as my friend, I would do a thousand times over without hesitation. She was the perfect addition to our band of hardened men. “She hasn’t left you much of a choice, Les,” she said, pausing again to push a donut my way as she picked up another for herself. “I thought you were getting along okay since the appendix came out.”

The way she said it made it sound like the reason we _hadn’t_ been getting along was because of her appendix. A small smile twitched at my lips. “Getting along, yes,” I confirmed. “But there’s still that undercurrent of distrust that I just can’t ignore. I’m not sure it’ll ever go away.”

Another nod from Steph as she worked on swallowing an overly large bite of the donut. “So,” she started, chewing a little more before she could continue. “Out of a sense of duty and honour, you married a woman who raises your hackles. And in a moment of weakness brought on by increasing frustrations and no way to let it out properly, engaged in sexual intercourse with your wife on your wedding night.” She waited for my nod before she spoke again. She really had a way of hitting the nail on the head. “And this morning you’re angry at…” she eyed me over the rim of her coffee cup, lifted to the air in front of her lips but left undrunk. “…yourself, so you take to the punching bag as punishment? Is that an accurate depiction of the events that have occurred?” I’m pretty sure she’d been questioned by the cops one too many times if she was starting to summarise situation like this.

“More or less,” I confirmed.

She let out a sigh, shaking her head in exasperation. “Did it at least relieve some of the stress?”

I raised an eyebrow at her, mid-sip. Slowly, I lowered the cup to the table, savouring the feel of the warm coffee down my throat as our eyes locked over the table “The gym equipment, or the sex?” I asked, mimicking her earlier joke as I resisted the urge to start jiggling my leg as the topic started grating on me again. The energy I’d expended this morning and last night wasn’t enough to keep me calm all day. At this rate it would barely get me back to Rangeman.

“Either,” she said.

“Any positive effects it had on my body are well and truly gone now,” I said, my voice flatter than some people thought the earth was.

“I see,” Steph said, leaning back and crossing her arms. Giving me one of Ranger’s signature looks. “I assume you’d prefer to avoid further sexual acts with your devil-wife?”

I sent her a deadpan look, mirroring her position. “Yes,” I said. “But I just wasn’t built for abstinence. And I refuse to cheat on her.”

“Even though she’s been sleeping with other men the entire time you were engaged?” she pressed.

I stood abruptly, unable to sit still any longer. “She can do whatever the hell she wants,” I said, offering Steph my hand to help her up as she stuffed the last donut in her mouth and scrambled to follow. “But I refuse to commit adultery. I have standards.”

With Steph on her feet we were halfway to the door when she returned the favour from the beginning of the conversation. “Right,” she said, dropping our cups in the trash as we passed. “Your rules.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, and had I been eating a donut, I probably would have choked on it. My rules were common knowledge among the guys, sure, but that was because they’d been privy to my rituals enough to learn them. While Steph had accompanied us on a night out here and there, we’d always been on our best behaviour for fear that Ranger wouldn’t let us hang with her anymore if we weren’t. When Steph was with us, I allowed myself to sample some goods on the dance floor, but I committed to staying with the pack at least for the duration of that Steph was there. If she stayed out all night with us, I’d go home alone and try my luck another night. If she left early, I was free to roam.

“How do you know about my rules?” I demanded, stopping just short of jabbing my hands on my hips. She knew I was a ladies’ man, but I had no idea the extent of her knowledge beyond that.

She just laughed, laid a hand on my arm and gently urged me to continue with her back to the SUV. “The guys can be just as bad as the Burg when there’s a juicy piece of gossip to share,” she pointed out once we were on the sidewalk. “I overheard Hank and Cal talking back then about how sleeping with Phoebe had broken two of your three main rules. I was curious. And Carlos can be surprisingly chatty with the right motivation.

A slow grin spread across my face, and I was pretty sure my eyes darkened with a mixture of humour and approval at the use of sexual acts to gain information from her husband. It was a very effective tool.

Another laugh escaped her then. “Not like that!” she exclaimed, slapping my arm. “He was trying to get me to exercise, so I demanded a trade. I’d run on the treadmill if he’d answer as many questions as I ran minutes.”

“Conniving,” I said. I still approved of her methods. She was a good match for my cousin.

“I can hold my own with him,” she assured me nonchalantly, but then her tone turned serious again as we reached the SUV. “But back to your problem: You’re wrong.”

I paused with my hand on the driver side door, looking over the roof of the car at her. “I’m wrong?” I asked. I couldn’t wait to hear what part of my fucked-up life she thought I was interpreting incorrectly.

“Yes,” she confirmed, opening her door and sliding in, forcing me to do the same if I wanted to hear her explanation. “You said Phoebe can do whatever the hell she wants. She can’t. She shouldn’t. I was there yesterday. I heard the vows you both made. You _both_ pledged communication, understanding and _fidelity.”_

 _All that, yes,_ I thought to myself, strapping myself in and starting up the car. _But not love. We hadn’t been stupid enough to think that love was possible between us._

Steph wasn’t finished. She ranted for three stop lights about how sleeping around was not a sign of fidelity and that the least the woman could do after upturning my life was show some damn respect and commit to him. When she paused, breathing heavily as she stared dead ahead, I took the opportunity to venture a comment of my own.

“You have some pretty strong feelings about this,” I said slowly, glancing over at her. “Is everything okay with-“

“I caught the Dick cheating on me before the ink on our marriage certificate was even dry, remember?” she pointed out.

“Right,” I agreed, relieved that her sudden passion on the subject was not a reaction to something my idiot cousin had done. “So you’re saying….”

Steph turned in her seat to stare at the side of my head directly as I tried to focus on the road instead of the pull of her plaintive, cerulean eyes. “I’m saying Phoebe’s made her bed, so now she needs to lie in it. She’s your wife now, and she needs to start acting like it.”

I shook my head. She made a good point, but I couldn’t help suppressing a shudder. “I don’t think I can sleep with her again.”

“You don’t have to,” she said firmly. “But she should at least have the common decency to afford you the same courtesy you’re affording her and commit, body and soul, to this marriage. You're bringing a baby into this world that's going to learn it's values from it's family first and foremost. Do you really want this kid growing up thinking that Mommies and Daddies are supposed to hate each other and have intimate relationships with other people?"”

A heavy sigh fell from my lips. “You’re right,” I said easily. It was simple math. If we wanted this marriage to be liveable, and at least semi-functioning for the baby’s sake, we needed to honour the commit we’d made.

“Of course I’m right,” she proclaimed. “I’m always right.”

We both knew that wasn’t true, but I didn’t think the point was worth raising right now. I was too grateful for her insights and the kick in the pants they provided. I was still probably going to go searching for a physical kick in the pants in the form of a sparring session with one of the guys later, but I’d make a conscious effort to use my words to request it. “Thanks for this, Steph,” I said as I pulled into the parking garage at Rangeman once more. “It’s really helped put things in perspective.”

“Good,” she said, nodding emphatically while I parked. “I’m glad. But next time, could you try to time your crisis for after midday so we can justify the beer?”

Turning to face her once I put the car in park, I smirked. “I’ll do my best,” I assured her. “I should probably go home and talk to my wife.”

“You should,” she agreed. “Hopefully she’ll see the light, but for me, it’s lights out. I was deprived of an hour and half of sleep because of you, so I’m going back upstairs to crawl into bed for another hour and half.”

We hugged over the console and she hopped out, waving goodbye from the elevator banks as I turned the car around and pointed it back home. Here goes everything, I guess. Doing it for you, Baby Santos.


	26. Chapter 25

** Chapter 25 **

Present

The next four days passed in a blur of activity and exhaustion for both Kenzie and me. For Kenzie’s part she had her usual full day of school followed by homework and time spend hanging out at Rangeman while I finished out the last couple of hours of the work day, but on top of that she still hadn’t quite recovered from her tiring weekend. And the fact that she’d spent Wednesday night with Ella and Louis on the sixth floor while I covered a surveillance shift for Hal when he’d gotten himself injured at the last minute didn’t help matters. Her routine was all out of whack, and by the time Thursday afternoon rolled around it was beginning to wear on both of us.

“How was your day, Muffin-head?” I asked as she climbed slowly into her booster seat in the back of the SUV after school. Her hair tie had mysteriously disappeared at some point throughout the day, allowing her hair to puff out and tangle itself even more than usual. Add to that the way her eyelids were drooping and the wide yawn that stole over her and she was beginning to look like a zombie. I just hoped she wasn’t getting sick.

“I don’t want to go to work, Daddy,” She said plaintively, rubbing her eyes as I strapped her in. “I’m tired.”

When I stepped back, I was surprised to find tears brimming in her eyes. She was more exhausted than I thought if this was all it took to bring on the water works. The week had been hard on her, and if I didn’t take the time to make sure she had the balance she needed it was only going to get worse. And then if she _did_ end up getting sick, it would make it all the more difficult to shake.

Brushing her hair back from her forehead and checking her temperature in the same gesture, I pressed a kissed to her temple. No fever, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t on the brink. “I’ll call Uncle Los-Los and let him know we’re going home,” I assured her, handing over the container of apple slices I’d brought for her after school snack. “We’ll get you a bath and a nap on the couch with Teddy, how does that sound?”

“Do I have to do homework?” she yawned.

I smiled. “I think we can skip it just this once,” I said. And besides, I was pretty sure she’d already finished her weekly worksheet. If she hadn’t, well, I ‘d just have to bat my eyes at her teacher and smooth things over. It wouldn’t be the first time.

She was quiet on the way home, staring glassy eyed out the window and only breaking her silence to say goodbye to Ranger at the end of the phone call I made via the SUV’s Bluetooth, and to request ‘dippy eggs’ for dinner. A couple of times during the drive I thought she’d fallen asleep, but when I glanced at her in the rear-view mirror she was still just staring unseeingly at the passing scenery. The poor kid was completely out of it it.

“Maybe we should give hair class a miss tonight so you can get to bed early,” I suggested as I pulled into the driveway.

She shook her head, eyes filling with tears and cascading down her face unchecked. “I don’t want Miss Grace to be mad!” she cried softly, punctuating her statement with a wet sniff.

Shit. This was all my own doing for allowing Kenzie to stay on at that fucking dance studio even after I realised what an utter bitch Miss Moon was. I should have pulled her out after the first temper tantrum the woman had thrown. I’d worked too hard to make sure my child had decent self esteem to let it be ruined by some two-bit dance teacher. We’d dodged a bullet on that front when Phoebe died, but I’d put her back in the line of fire every week she attended dance class. Something told me I’d be paying for that mistake in therapy fees at some point later down the track.

“Miss Grace isn’t going to get mad,” I assured her, turning all the way around in my seat once I’d parked and shut the car off. “It’s important that we take care of ourselves when we’re not feeling good, and Miss Grace understands that.”

Another wet sniff was all the reply I got for several seconds as she scrubbed tears off her face. “You can’t miss class, Daddy,” she implored, her breath hitching as her watery gaze returned to mine. “We have to go.”

I sighed. Telling her flat out that we wouldn’t be going would only get her mor upset, which was the last thing either of us needed right now, so I did what any self-respecting parent would do in my situation and I delayed the decision, distracting her from the topic for now. “If you’re feeling better after a rest we can still go,” I compromised, hopping out of the car, retrieving her backpack from the trunk and carrying it and her – still lightly sobbing – into the house. We stopped in the mudroom to remove our shoes, empty her bag and hang it on the appropriate hook, paused in the kitchen to deposit her lunch box and drink bottle for cleaning later, and continued straight to Kenzie’s bedroom.

“Pick out something comfy for after your bath,” I instructed, setting her down in front of her dresser with another kiss to the top of her head. “I’ll go get it running.”

“Strawberry bubbles?” She asked, much calmer as she turned just her head to watch me leave.

I nodded. “Strawberry bubbles,” I agreed.

Half an hour later, Kenzie was scrubbed clean, lavender lotioned, dressed in a Rangeman themed onesie Ella had made for her, and sitting cross legged on the coffee table with a brush and the detangling spray in hand.

If there was one thing I’d learned from life with Phoebe, it was that having one’s had brushed could be incredibly soothing. She’d had me brush and tie back her hair for her a few times when she was extra stressed and achy from a long day of house viewings while carrying around the extra weight of pregnancy. It had always served to calm her down and put her in a more amiable mood. As Kenzie (and her hair) grew, brushing her hair had become and integral part of her bedtime routine. Mostly, it was to remove the knots from her hair so that she could put fresh ones in while she slept, but sometimes she needed more than a perfunctory tangle extraction. The soothing sensation of the brush gently dragging against her scalp and down through her hair relaxed her muscles and helped her wind down.

I took a seat on the couch behind her, setting down a glass of water and her teddy by her side and accepting the brush and spray she handed to me. Holding my phone up for her to see the list of Spotify playlists, I instructed her to choose some music to listen to while we relaxed, and in moments the room was filled with the gentle strains of orchestral music as I worked on the damp rats next that was my daughter’s hair.

“You like Uncle Los-los’s music, huh?” I asked as she wrapped her arms around Teddy – also in a Rangeman onesie – and rested her head on top of his.

She shrugged lethargically. “It makes me sleepy,” she said. “And I need a good rest so we can still got to hair school.”

“Good thinking,” I smiled.

I continued brushing her hair for several minutes once all the knots were out until I could see all the tension seeping out of her body. To preserve as much of it’s tangle-free state for tonight as possible, I gathered the hair into a low ponytail and used several more bands to bind the hair at intervals down the length. When I finally set down the brush, Kenzie climbed from the table to the couch, dragged the blanket down from the backrest and half-heartedly laid it over her lower half as she laid down, using my leg as a pillow. It was a good thing I’d brought my iPad in with me so I could at least get a little work done while she napped.

An hour later, I replaced my leg with a cushion so I could use the bathroom and make dinner: Soft boiled egg with bread soldiers ready to fulfill their dipping duties for the little miss, and a steak sandwich for the sir. I set them both on the table and went to rouse Kenzie from her nap, only to fin her lying upside down on the couch, legs resting against the backrest, head hanging off the front. She twister her head to look at me as I approached.

“I’m feeling better, Daddy,” she informed me flipping her way off the couch. “Can we still go to hair school?”

I eyed her critically. She did, indeed, look more alive that she had when I’d picked her up from school; the nap had served her well. But just because she looked better now, fresh from waking up, didn’t mean she would be able to sustain the act for an evening out of the house. “Eat dinner and then we’ll decide,” I hedged, knowing that how she handled eating would be the ultimate test of how tired she was.

*o*

Grace’s Daddy-Daughter-Dos class consisted of five other guys and their daughters, all aged between four and ten, Grace, and another woman who introduced herself as Lydia. It was held in a small room out the back of Shannon’s Hair Shack that had been set up with a couple of long tables and a few height adjustable chairs. On the tables were six sets of equipment that I recognised as essential hair products and tools. So far, so good. I at least knew what all these things were and had attempted to use each of them at least once with varying levels of success.

I let Kenzie choose which spot at the tables we would use, breathed a sigh of relief when she automatically selected a position that would allow me to keep an eye on both exits and all participants, and hoisted her up onto the stool.

“Kenzie! Lester!” Grace exclaimed, a grin spreading across her face as she entered from the second door, a plastic severed head with long flowing hair cradled in one arm, and another with much shorter hair in the other. “I’m so glad you made it!” she passed the heads off to Lydia and wove through the other Dads and daughters towards us. “Is this a fair representation of Dad’s skills?” she asked Kenzie, lifting the banded tail and laying it over her shoulder so that it hung in front.

Kenzie nodded. “He put the extra ‘lastics in to keep the knots out when I had a nap as afternoon,” she explained.

“Pretty smart Dad you have there,” Grace praised, shooting me a half cocked smile. My lower gut clenched with desire for this woman, Okay, so maybe my friends weren’t entirely wrong about my motivations for attending this class. A date with this incredible woman had the potential to be a strong contender for the highlight of my year. “I thought you said Dad wasn’t good at hair,” she added, still talking to Kenzie.

“I’m not,” I assured her. “It’s this, or a tangled mess with a headband.”

“Daddy also does clips,” Kenzie supplied, picking up one of the long clips from the table in front of her and snapping it open and closed. “He can to up top ponytails too, but they’re good. They hurt my head, or they fall off, or they go on the side.”

“Hey, don’t forget that I tried out the braid Auntie Steph taught me,” I chipped in. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

The deadpan look, Kenzie cut from me to Grace was all the answer I received. Apparently, my braiding needed a lot more work before my daughter would be impressed by it. Good thing I’d found a (hot) teacher to help with that.

“Braiding is pretty advanced stuff,” Grace said, giving me a pat on the shoulder. “We’ll work up to it.” And with that, she joined Lydia and the heads at the front of the room and class began.

I must have come to the remedial hair session, because we started by revising how to burhs out little girls’ hair out properly, a technique I’d already mastered thanks to the women in my life. Some of the other dads seemed to struggle with it, though, so I guessed they were newer to this than I was.

As the evening progressed and we were given time to practice the low ponytail (another skill I already had up my sleeve) and how to part the hair evenly to create pigtails (I was less successful at this, but still leagues ahead of the others), we had time to chat and get to know each other and I figured out why my hair skills were so much more advanced than the other dads: I really had been at it a lot longer.

Two of the dads were recently divorced and having to deal with full hair responsibilities during their portion of the shared custody agreement for the first time. One pair had been attending the class for several weeks as a way to help ease his wife’s burden since she’d recently been diagnosed with a muscular disease that affected the functionality of her hands. And the last two dads and daughters were here as a bonding experience. By comparison, I was a veteran with my three and half years of sole responsibility over Kenzie’s hair, and as a result, I started to receive extra credit assignments pretty quickly.

While the others were still figuring out hair elastics and tail combs, I was presented with a loop on a stick (called a topsy tail, I was informed) and given and one-on-one tutorial on how to use it to flip a ponytail under on itself and add ‘flair’.

As a firm believer in flair, and one-on-one time with Grace, I was eager to master this technique so that I could help my daughter strive for the same flair goals. Kenzie also had a penchant for adding flair, but there was only so much you could do with a bow, a headband, a flower, or a couple of clips. Topsy tailing was a whole new level of fancy, and I could tell Kenzie was excited to have it added to my hair arsenal.

“Great work tonight, Dads,” Grace announced at the end of the hour and a half session. “Girls, let’s give your dad’s a round of applause for their hard work.”

The girls complied, clapping with varied enthusiasm, and we were all given instructions on how we could assist packing away the equipment we’d used. When everything was deposited in the correct containers, the other dads started ushering their daughters out the door with votes of thanks called over their shoulders to the women. I was about to follow suit when Kenzie announce that she needed to pee.

“The mall restrooms will be closed for cleaning by now,” Lydia informed us, glancing at her watch. “I can take her to our staff bathroom if you like?”

I hesitated, unwilling to blindly trust this woman I’d only met a couple of hours ago, especially without a background check. It seemed unlikely that she’d be teaching a basic hair styling course with the sole purpose of kidnapping a little girl at the end of the night, but I’d seen stranger things in my life.

“It’s just through the next room,” she assured me calmly. “You can accompany us if it would help put your mind at ease.”

It would, and it did, and had the added bonus of allowing me a moment alone with Grace who was in the back room disinfecting combs. When Lydia had shown Kenzie to the toilet and silently confirmed that Grace was there to keep an eye on me so I wouldn’t try to make off with any of the products lining the shelves, she retreated back to the classroom to finish tidying up out there.

“You really under sold your hair skills,” Grace informed me earnestly. “I was expecting a disaster like the others by the way you and Kenzie were talking on the weekend.”

I shrugged. “I learned out of necessity when Kenzie’s mom died,” I explained. “But I mostly got away with brushing it out and sticking a headband or a couple of clips in it until this year. Kenzie needs to have her hair tied back for school, which I’m not incapable of, as you saw, but she wants her hair to look like hairstyles her friends’ moms do in their hair, which has been a point of contention to add stress to the new morning routine to get us both out the door on time.

I had no idea why I was speaking so openly about my life with Grace. Sure, sue was attractive, and nice, and I periodically had to squash down little fantasies of what she would be like if I got her alone and naked, but I’d never felt the urge to share details of my life with any other woman I’d encountered either in my playboy days or my present single dad status. But with Grace it was almost overwhelming. I wanted to share so much more with her, and it scared me. I was like a moth on a suicide mission towards the mesmerising light of the bug zapper.

“How long ago did your wife die?” she asked quietly, looking up at me through her lashes. _Gods, the things she could convince me to do with that look_! I had to get out of here before I did or said something to embarrass myself.

“Three and a half years,” I said, plunging my hands into my pocket as I heard the toilet flush. A moment later Kenzie emerged. “Did you wash your hands?” I questioned sternly even as I praised her impeccable timing.

“With soap,” she said on a nod, holding her slightly damp hands out as evidence. “It smells like cupcakes.”

Leaning down to inspect her hands, I took an experimental sniff and confirmed that the soap did indeed carry a delicious vanilla scent. “Yummy,” I said, nipping at her fingers. “Good enough to eat.”

Kenzie shook her head, snatching her hands away to jab them onto her hips, reminding me of her mother. “No, Daddy,” she said. “You and Bo-Bo need to learn that soap doesn’t make people tasty. Just nice smelling.”

“Huh,” I uttered, straightening again. “Sounds fake, but I guess I’ll take your word for it.” I held out my hand for her to hold and we turned back to face Grace. “Did you say thank you to Miss Grace?” I asked.

“Thank you, Miss Grace,” she said dutifully, but made it more sincere by pulling her hand back out of my grasp and flinging her arms around Grace’s waist for a hug.

“You’re absolutely welcome, Kenzie,” Grace replied with a blinding smile in my direction as she returned my daughter’s hug. “Don’t tell anyone, but your dad is my star pupil,” she added on a conspiratorial whisper. Glancing from Kenzie to me, she then lowered her voice further and added, “And especially don’t tell your dad. He might get a big head.”

Kenzie’s eyes widened, cutting her eyes to me for a second before replying just as quietly, “I won’t tell him. His head is already too big. He broke my princess tiara when we were playing dress ups.”

I stifled a grown. “And on that note,” I said, stepping forward and holding out my hand again. “It’s time to get you home to bed. Thank you for everything, Grace. We’ll see you next week.”


	27. Chapter 26

** Chapter 26 **

Present

When Kenzie wasn’t beside my bed within a minute of my alarm going off the next morning, I was immediately on alert, listening intently to the silence that filled the house. No footsteps padding down the hall, no running water in the kitchen or the bathroom, no quiet murmuring voice as she spoke to Teddy. Something was off. Normally, Kenzie would wake up with my alarm, and come to ensure I was awake too, not that I ever slept through, but sometimes she got a kick out of ‘waking me up’ when I pretended to have gone back to sleep. It was a part of our routine, and the fact that I couldn’t hear her moving through the house had concern edging into the pit of my stomach.

I threw back the covers, ignoring the pressure in my bladder, and made a bee line for Kenzie’s bedroom. She was still snuggled under the pink duvet, her back to the door so that only her mess of hair was visible. She rolled onto her back as I lowered myself onto the edge of the mattress, the pout on her lips dragging her eyebrows down into a frown, but she didn’t open her eyes.

“Hey, Chicken-Pop?” I called, gently brushing the hair back from her forehead and noting that she was a bit warm to the touch. It’s time to get up, Sweet-Pea.”

She grunted, the frown deepening as her arms snaked out from under the covers and wrapped around my forearm. A cough jerked her little body and she punctuated it with a sniff, burrowing her face into my hand.

 _Damn_. She was sick, just as I’d suspected might be the case after her breakdown yesterday afternoon. All the classic signs were there: fatigue, high temperature, cough, runny nose. Probably, if she opened her eyes for me, they’d be watery. No way was she going to school today. And if she wasn’t going to school, that meant I wasn’t going to work.

I needed to make a few phone calls, empty my bladder, and get some medicine to head off the worst of her symptoms (not necessarily in that order), but there was one problem: Kenzie had a firm grip on my arm, and seemed to be settling back in to sleep. I was loathe to disturb her again, but I needed my hand back if I wanted to avoid wetting her bed. So, I carefully extracted it, pressing a kiss to her forehead when she grumbled wordless in protest, and slipped silently from the room.

I did my business in the bathroom and swiped the children’s Panadol from the medicine cabinet on my way back to the bedroom to retrieve my phone.

First up was a quick email to the school to let them know Kenzie wouldn’t be in today. Then a phone call to Ranger. He answered on the second ring with his customary monosyllabic greeting and I wasted no time getting straight to the point.

“I was right,” I said on a sigh, running a hand over my head, dislodging what was left of yesterday’s spikes. “Kenzie’s sick.”

“How does this affect Rangeman?” he questioned efficiently, and if I didn’t know the man so well, I might have been offended by his seeming lack of concern for my daughter’s condition. But I did know him, and I knew he cared a great deal for his niece. He was just wired for the facts first. Once he had the facts, he could make a plan to deal with whatever needed to be dealt with, and the compassion would show in his careful consideration of the situation rather than a series of obligatory words.

“I think it’s just a cold,” I said. “I’m keeping her home from school.” It wasn’t a direct answer, but it gave him the information he needed.

I imagined him giving a short nod as he processed the information and did a mental stocktake of the Rangeman roster. “Work from home,” he instructed. “I’ll have Rodriguez send through some files you can work on remotely. Cal can ride with Bobby on patrol since Hal’s still out of commission. Did you have any appointments lined up for the day?”

I shook my head. “Nothing Bobby can’t handle on his own.”

A small hum of approval. “I’ll send Ella or Steph over with some soup for Kenzie,” he concluded, his way of saying he hoped she’d get well soon.

Being the good soldier he was, Ranger tended to avoid shows of emotion at all cost. Emotion was vulnerability, and vulnerability was death. That didn’t mean he was incapable of talking about his feelings, or showing love as most people assumed, just that he expressed them more privately, subtly. He’d adapted to Steph’s love language over the years, so that he could ensure she understood his feelings toward her, and that mean food. The Plums had always expressed emotions with food, and while Ranger wasn’t likely to personally cook for anyone other than Steph to show he cared, he had no problem commissioning Ella to be his food-love proxy.

Most of the guys thought that Ella provided meals for them out of the goodness of her own heart. And there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she did, but the timely efficiency of a delivery of food following an injury, illness or ordeal was due, at least in part, to Ranger’s voice in her ear. Because of him, she knew within minutes if an employee was laid up, or taking personal leave, rather than waiting for her to hear through the office grapevine. Only a handful of men were aware of Ranger’s hand in the appearance of the favourite foods on their doorsteps, but those us who were counted ourselves extra blessed by his unique methods.

After hanging up from Ranger, I dialled Bobby to let him know that Kenzie was sick, and I wouldn’t be in. Unlike Ranger, Bobby’s thought processes were geared toward ensuring a person was okay over making sure everything at work was covered. He spent a few minutes asking about symptoms and giving me advice for treating them like he always did, even though I was old had at colds by now. He reminded me of the warning signs to keep and eye out for, and only once he was satisfied that Kenzie’s health was being taken care of did he move on to work related topics.

With the phone calls out of the way, I grabbed a glass of juice and a cereal bar from the kitchen and returned to Kenzie’s bedroom. She was lying awake, but bleary eyed and frowning when I entered.

“How’re you feeling, Muffin-head?” I asked, taking to seat on the bed once more.

“Your ‘alarm didn’t go,” she told me rather than answer the question. “It’s too early.”

I gave her a little smile. “It did go, Kenz,” I said. “You slept through. I think you’re sick.”

She shook her head in protest but must have through better of the action as she winced and stilled, leaving her open from a coughing fit. Leaning back against the pillows again, she eyed the items I’d set on the bedside table. “No school?” she asked.

“No school,” I confirmed, opening the bottle of chewable tablets and pouring two out into my hand. No work for Daddy either. Sit up and chew these so we can start you feeling better.”

She didn’t argue, fully aware of the drill when it came to medicine, and in a few minutes she was dosed up with Panadol and washing the taste out of her mouth with a sip of pineapple juice. She didn’t appear as sleepy or out of it as she had when I first entered, but she wasn’t bursting with her usual morning energy. I gave her a couple of options and installed her and Teddy on a beanbag in my home office with the juice and cereal bar and an audio book playing from my iPad. We’d decided on the office so that she could keep me company while I worked once I’d run through the shower and grabbed my own breakfast. And of course, I could keep an eye on her in case she started to feel worse.

It was a good thing I knew Ranger didn’t really expect me to get much done working from home with a sick five year old, because with the Panadol working in her system, she was practically back to her usual self. The only sign that she was sick being the cough that snuck up on her from time to time. I was plugging another search into the program when Kenzie grew bored of the puzzle she’d been working on quietly in the middle of the floor since her audiobook ended and came around the desk to stand beside me, leaning her chin on my arm.

“What’s up, bug?” I asked shifting the arm so that she could climb up into my lap. It was almost lunch time, so I’d be taking a break soon anyway, no point in brushing her off for another ten minutes.

“What happened after you and Mommy got married?”

I should have known she wouldn’t let the topic drop for long. We hadn’t had time to discuss much of anything this week, let alone continue the story of her mother. It seemed surreal to me that she’d made it a full five days without asking about what happened next. She’d asked smaller questions, clarifying Phoebe’s likes and dislikes, and that sort of thing, but seemed to sense that we didn’t have the time to delve into the ongoing fairy tale, even on our morning commutes. And she was much too tired by bedtime to warrant starting up the tale then.

“Things were good for a while,” I said honestly, thinking of how easily we’d come to an agreement after my early morning meltdown the day after the wedding. It was almost like we were an actual couple. “Mommy and Daddy were starting to understand each other’s needs and how to respond to them. We were starting to act like a real Mommy and Daddy do, making decisions and spending time together.”

Kenzie tipped her head back against my chest so she could peer up at me. “But you _were_ a real Mommy and Daddy,” she pointed out.

She had a point, of course. We were very much parents to be from the second Phoebe revealed her pregnancy, but it wasn’t until that second ring was on her finger and we’d had an honest to god conversation about what we both expected in the marriage that it started to feel real. And it helped that Phoebe had consented to me accompanying her to her next scan and the baby had been in a decent position to find out the gender. In a matter of minutes the baby had gone from an abstract ‘he or she’ or ‘the baby’ to a concrete ‘she’. Being able to see her moving on the screen and having the technician point out all the standards parts a human is equipped with was like flipping a switch in my brain. I’d seen stills from previous scans, and even been able to feel her kicking once or twice, but it was nothing like being in the room, seeing the movement, hearing the heartbeat.

It was at that moment that I knew one hundred percent that I couldn’t abandon this little girl. Even if the marriage only lasted as long as the pregnancy, I couldn’t see myself stepping back from her life to be just a name on a cheque like Ranger had. He’d been right when I’d asked him for advice. His decisions were not my own. He was in a different place in his life back when he and Rachel had gotten together and later separated. He was young, in a committed relationship with the country he served. Ranger hadn’t been prepared to be a father back then.

I may not have been prepared to be a father when Phoebe first told me she was pregnant, either. In fact, I’d been downright livid about it at first. But the idea had grown on me. As I got a handle on my stress levels without my usual methods of dealing with them, I realised just how exhausting and lonely my existence had been. There was something uniquely isolating about being constantly on the prowl for a _new_ bed mate. I wasn’t as young as I used to be. And in the good moments with Phoebe I’d gotten a taste of a new life that was appealing. Being able to share the highs and lows with someone wasn’t something I’d ever allowed myself to contemplate before, convinced that I was to be a perpetual man-slut in order to maintain a level head.

The thought of a life shared with a partner, of raising a baby Santos and instilling the good values my parents had taught me was growing on me. I couldn’t run the risk of Phoebe turning out like Steph’s mother and leaving her with the same kind of psychological battle scars. Someone had to be there to balance things out.

I was in the middle of attempting to explain the aforementioned baby Santos without revealing what a man whore I’d been when my cell rang on the desk beside the laptop.

“That’s Uncle Tank,” I told Kenzie, holding up the phone so she could see Tank’s name on the screen. “He’s probably checking up on my work. Should I tell him you’ve been distracting me?”

“Uncle Tank doesn’t scare me,” she said, tilting her chin defiantly, reminding me of her stubborn mother. “If he gets mad, I’ll just say he can’t watch princess movies with me anymore.”

I smirked and swiped the little green dot across the screen. “Santos,” I greeted, holding the device to my ear.

“How’s Kenzie?” he asked.

“She seems okay,” I said, eyeing Kenzie to assess her condition once more, nose was dry at the moment, and her eyes were alert doodled on a post-it note. “Nothing too serious. She’s doing better than she was this morning.”

“Good to hear,” he said. “Bobby is bringing Steph and some soup over as we speak. I need you to suit up and go with Bobby. Steph will stay and look after Kenzie for the afternoon.”

Kenzie pulled the post-it off the pad and stuck it to the side of the laptop screen. _To Daddy, love McKenzie_ , it said at the top. And underneath she’d drawn two stick figures smiling and holding hands. “I’m working from home today, Tank,” I pointed out. “Ranger’s orders. She’s expecting me to be here all day.”

“I’m aware,” he sighed. “And if there was any other way around it, I wouldn’t be asking you to suit up, but there’s an evolving situation at the library. Some gun wielding maniac burst in on toddler time and is holding the kids and moms hostage. The librarian who contacted us requested you by name. No one else would do.”

A curse word fell from my lips before I could stop it, prompting Kenzie tap my knuckles and admonish me for swearing. I murmured a placating apology, but my mind was already whirling with the information Tank had just dumped on me. I had to go, obviously. What if Kenzie had been one of the kids being held hostage. “ETA?” I requested, easing Kenzie to the floor as I stood from the desk, closing the laptop with my elbow.

“Ten,” Tank said. “Rangeman patrols and Trenton PD are already on route to secure the scene.”

“You owe me,” I growled into the phone, and hung up, taking a deep, steadying breath before turning to make my way out of the room. I stopped dead when I realised Kenzie was still standing beside me, looking up with wide, concerned eyes.

“Daddy?” she whispered worriedly.

“I have to go to work,” I told her. No point in beating around the bush, there wasn’t time to delicately ease her into it. “Uncle Bobby’s coming to pick me up and he’s going to drop Auntie Steph off to stay here and hang out with your while I’m gone.”

A frown and a pout were her immediate response as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You said no work for Daddy,” she reminded me. “You can’t go.”

“I know, Sweet-Pea,” I said crouching down so I was on her level and dragging her hands away from her body and into my own. “And I meant it. But there’s an emergency. Some kids are in trouble and need my help.”

Her frown faltered, inching away from anger and closer to concern. “What kids?” she asked. “My friends?”

“No, sweetie,” I assured her. “Your friends are safe at school, but I have to go and help keep these other kids and their mommies safe, okay?”

She looked like she wanted to protest more, but there was also that fear in her eyes like she got when she heard about a loved one getting hurt. “Okay,” she said, nodding firmly even as her lip trembled.

Gods, how that little quiver could bring me to my knees! I hated to leave her like this, but I had a job to do. “You’ll be safe here with Auntie Steph,” I assured her, scooping her up to carry her with me as I made my way to my bedroom. “She’s bringing lunch from Miss Ella, and you can ask her to tell you about the first time Mommy was invited to Manoso Family Dinner.” I dropped her down in the middle of my bed. “I need to get dressed so I’m ready when Uncle Bobby gets here,” I explained, pulling my wallet out of the bedside drawer and handing it to her. “Can you check my prayer cards are in there while I’m changing?”


	28. Chapter 27

** Chapter 27 **

Past

Phoebe was dripping in sweat, huffing and puffing by the time we reached the front porch of my aunt and uncle’s house. The sun was still lingering on the horizon, adding to the cumulative heat of the day, and after the walk from where we’d parked the car just under a block away, I wasn’t feeling especially fresh myself. But Phoebe looked like she was dying. The make-up she’d insisted on applying before we left, putting us behind schedule, was melting off her face, replaced by slightly pigmented perspiration. I’d offered to drop her at the door when we’d turned into the street and noted the number of cars lining either side of the road. She’d refused.

“I’m not going in on my own,” she’d stated adamantly, that familiar stubborn crease forming in her brow. “And I’m not going to wait outside like a lost fart. Just park and we’ll both walk back.” Hard to say if she was regretting her decision or not under those flushed cheeks.

I handed her my handkerchief and waited until she’d dabbed away the worst of the sweat before I pressed the doorbell. It opened immediately to reveal one Stephanie Manoso and I wondered when she’d been given door answering authority at Ranger’s parent’s house and how long she’d been waiting on the other side for us to announce our arrival. No doubt Ranger was aware the moment my SUV turned onto the street and had sent his wife to intercept us at the door before his mother or one of his sisters could accost us. Sometimes it paid to have an all-knowing cousin on the inside.

“Lester!” She exclaimed with hushed enthusiasm, like she hadn’t just seen me at work two hours ago. “Phoebe! You made it!” This was the standard threshold greeting at Manoso gatherings, and Steph, unable to fully shake her Burg upbringing despite her best efforts, had obviously learned to adapt to the expected standards of hospitality. She hugged us both – another expected response to new arrivals – and stepped aside to allow us entry.

“Steamy day, isn’t it,” she asked conversationally as I closed the door behind us. The house was blessedly cool, the ducted air conditioning appearing to have no problem keeping up with the volume of bodies generating heat inside. “Let’s get you a drink of water and moment to cool down before you’re pulled into the mingle,” Steph added, laying a hand briefly on the small of Phoebe’s back as she lead us through the hall and into the kitchen.

It was empty but for Ranger, who leaned against the sink, sipping from a glass. I nodded in his direction, the slight change in the creases around his eyes the only acknowledgment of my silent thanks for his interference as Steph handed us both a glass of our own.

“Welcome to the mad house,” Ranger said. “Mama is chomping at the bit to meet the woman who managed to get Lester to settle down.”

I was pretty sure that wasn’t exactly how my tía had phrased it, but it was nice that he was trying to put a positive spin on things for Phoebe’s sake. At seven months pregnant, her emotions were not only all over the place, but magnified ten-fold, so I didn’t especially want to give cause for an outburst or breakdown at a family gathering.

“I promised to bring you over to Mama and Abuela as soon as you arrived,” Steph explained as Phoeve gulped down another glass of water and held the still chilled glass to her forehead. “I was afraid she was going to make me hand over my license to make sure I returned with you when Ranger came to drag me away.”

“Are you alright?” I asked Phoebe, eyeing her closely.

She had one hand pressed against the side of her protruding belly, the other – now free of the glass – was fanning her face. “Just need another minute,” she nodded, her eyes closed as she blew out a breath.

“While you’re recovering,” Ranger said, passing her a recipe card from the box on the bench to enhance her fanning. “There’s just a couple of Manoso protocols to be aware of.”

Steph nodded her agreement, the shadowy ghost of past embarrassment passing over her bright gaze. My gratitude for their interception increased. Ranger, having been absent from the family for a number of years before he and Steph officially got together, had neglected to share the protocols with his fiancé at the time which had lead to a number of minor faux pas. Being that she was entering from the Santos side, Phoebe would not be held as accountable to all of them, but there were, as Ranger said, a couple of pertinent ones. And since I’d never brought a woman to Manoso dinner before, I hadn’t thought to mention them.

“First,” Ranger went on when he was sure he had Phoebe’s attention. “I am Carlos, not Ranger. If my mother hears you call or refer to me as Ranger, the end result won’t be pretty. She respects my decision to join the military and the efforts I go to in order to keep my country safe and protected, but she will not tolerate the nickname I earned.”

“Second,” Steph added. “Abuela is Abuela. She may not be _your_ Abuela, but you’re gonna call her Abuela anyway. You could be the postman’s next door neighbour’s half sister’s boyfriend’s dog’s aunt and you’d still be expected to call her Abuela. She thrives on the identity as everyone’s grandmother and won’t hesitate to reprimand you if she thinks you’re in the wrong.”

“And third,” I took over, noting that Phoebe seemed to be returning to a more acceptable temperature if the slowed fanning and easing complexion was any indication. “My parents and Carlos’s parents are the only ones who have received a semblance of the full story of how we got together. The others will be curious due to my past discretions, but I’d appreciate if-“

She held up her hand, palm out to stop my words. “It’s not exactly the kind of thing I want spread any further than it already is either,” she informed me, a deadpan expression on her still flushed face. “As far as anyone else is concerned we met the usual way you meet women and a combination of contraceptive failings lead to this.” She rubbed her belling affectionately. “And now we’re trying to do the right thing for the baby.”

The version wasn’t exactly a lie, it just wasn’t the whole truth. I nodded. There was something to be said for this getting along business, because while it was essentially the same story we’d agreed to tell my parents the first time I took her to dinner there, it felt like much less of a battle to come to an agreement this time around.

Phoebe handed the recipe card back to Ranger who tucked it away into the box exactly where it had come from. (Heaven help anyone who messed with the order of Maria Manoso’s recipes). As he closed the lid, Steph scooted into his side, wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder briefly. I felt a stab of jealousy when Ranger hand came up to caress her arm and they shared a loving look. The chances of Phoebe and I reaching that level of relationship bliss were slim to none.

I’d always had a little niggling of longing for what Ranger and Steph had. Hell, I was only aware of a handful of Rangemen who _didn’t_ look at them with want, and those men were already happily married to their own ‘Somedays’. Ranger and Steph were goals. Their fairy tale was what every man yearned for, even a perpetual ladies man like myself who’d long ago convince myself that domestic bliss was not something I could achieve. Looking at how things were with Phoebe, I could confirm whole heartedly that it wasn’t likely to happen with her, but I felt we were faking it to an adequate level these days. She wasn’t my someday, but she was there and I’d learned to cohabitate with her well enough that my stance on my capacity to one day find the right person to share my life with fully was faltering.

“You should go find Abuela before she comes to find you,” Ranger instructed. “Word has probably already started to spread that you’re here.”

He had a point. Ranger was like smoke, but when the family was gathered all in one place, someone always noticed when he disappeared, especially if Steph disappeared along with him. It wouldn’t be long before Abuela figured out the reason for his absence and dispatched someone to retrieve my ass to drag my wife in front of her.

Confirming that Phoebe was ready to venture out of the kitchen, I laid a firm hand at the small of her back and ushered her through the door to the hall just as Abuela stepped out of the living room. She was short by almost anyone’s standards, but she never let that stop her from towering over me. I saw the expression in her eyes change when she spotted us and I sent up a quick, silent prayer for my own safety. There was a reason I hadn’t visited Abuela before now to introduce my new wife, and that reason was plain and simple: she scared the shit out of me.

No one in the family approved of my lifestyle choices, but aside from the occasional teasing comment from the cousins, or a resign admonishment from my parents or aunts and uncles, they didn’t’ make a big deal of it. Abuela, though, she’d spent half my life scolding me for he way I lived. The situation with Phoebe would just be fuel for the fire.

“Abuela!” I greeted warmly, stooping to envelop her slight form in a hug. “We were just coming in search of you. I wanted to introduce to you to my wife, Phoebe.”

Abuela gripped the fingers of one hand into my lower jaw as I tried to straighten, spearing me with a hard glare for a moment, communicating all the usual scolding I would be subjected to in a single look before releasing me with a pat on the cheek as she turned a much cheerier expression to Phoebe. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” she expressed, closing the distance between them and opening her arms expectantly until Phoebe bent as much as she could to oblige the woman with a hug. “We were all shocked to learn that our Lester had up and married some woman out of the blue. Tell me, what did you to finally get him to stop thinking with his _pinga_?”

“Abuela,” I tried to interrupt, but she wasn’t having it. Just waved a hand at me. I’d seen what happened to Marco last time he’d attempted to correct Abuela, so I bit my tongue and stayed quiet.

Phoebe, to her credit, took it in her stride. Her Spanish was worse than Steph’s but probably, she had worked out what a _pinga_ was from the context of the conversation. Calmly, she laid a hand on her stomach and explained, “I assure you that getting him to stop thinking with his penis was not my original intention.”

I stifled a groan as Abuela let out a laugh. If I’d said it I’d have received a whack to the head with a wooden spoon, but apparently from Phoebe it was amusing. “I see,” Abuela mused. “At least you’re honest about it. Tell me, is he being a gentleman?”

Phoebe’s eyes lifted to mine for a second before being drawn back to the old woman. “Perfectly honourable,” she assured Abuela. “I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

Abuela nodded, laying both her hands on Phoebe’s belly without hesitation or permission. It was an action received a slap to the face for the previous evening, but with Abuela Phoebe made no protests. “You’re having a girl,” Abuela pronounced, looking between us. How she knew was anyone’s guess, we hadn’t told anyone the gender of the baby yet. “Have you decided on a name?” she asked

“We only found out recently,” I told Abuela, finally finding the courage to speak up, since the question hadn’t been directed solely to Phoebe. “Haven’t had a chance to discuss.”

“I have some ideas,” Phoebe said quietly, meeting my eyes over Abuela’s head. “But I think they should be discussed privately before we publicise.”

I allowed a small hint of a smile and a nod to break my neutral expression in a show of approval for her explanation. “We should go find Tía Maria before she gets impatient and the whole party is moved into the hallway,” I said, moving closer to Phoebe’s side, but Abuela had other plans.

“Maria is in the living room with your mother and the rest of the women,” she said in that no-nonsense tone that I knew meant I wasn’t going to be entirely okay with her next words. “I’ll take Phoebe, you go find the men.”

I was right. I wasn’t entirely okay with the suggestion. My plan had been to stick to Phoebe’s side to show that we were making an effort and to support her if she got overwhelmed, but if the men and women were already split, then there was no way I could justify staying with her. Not even Ranger dared to encroach on the women’s domain when Steph had been hauled off during her first visit. I opened my mouth to protest, though no valid arguments were coming to mind, when Steph and Ranger stepped through from the kitchen.

“Oh, good,” Steph smile. “You found Abuela. Shall we go introduce Phoebe to the rest of the women? She can meet the men at dinner.” And with that, she grasped Phoebe’s elbow and started ushering both women back into the living room. She was an absolute godsend, I swear. Her Burg background may be the bane of her existence, but in situations like this, I thought it was her greatest asset. She manipulated social situations so effortlessly it almost made me wonder if it was a special part of the debutant training she’d been forced into as a teenager, or if it was just from living with her manipulative mother for the first eighteen years of her life.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding as the door swung shut behind them. Hopefully between Steph, Mama and Tía Maria, Phoebe would be all right.

Ranger’s hand clapped down on my back, dragging my attention away from door and over to his amused semi-expression. “Nerve-wracking, isn’t it?” he said. “At she seems to have placated Abuela by being honest.”

“That doesn’t save my ass though,” I pointed out as we made our way out to the patio where the men were gathered to keep an eye on the grill while the various children ran around heedless of the weather. “She’s still gonna box my ears.”

Ranger raised an eyebrow. “Who? Abuela or Phoebe.”


	29. Chapter 28

** Chapter 28 **

Past

I paused just outside the sliding glass door, turning just my head to look at my cousin. “Abuela,” I answered honestly. “You know more than most what her expectations are for us all. Besides, Phoebe and I are actually going okay at the moment.”

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it, just inclined his head in the minimalistic way he has and finished closing the door behind us. “I noticed you’ve cut back on attacking others in the gym,” he said conversationally, not moving to join the group lounging on the other end of the covered patio. “Does that mean-“

“Careful, Primo,” I warned.

He, like the rest of the family, didn’t approve of the ways I’d found my centre in the past. And since he copped the blame for me needing a way to deal with the shit I’d seen and experienced, he saw it as his personal mission to ensure it didn’t fuck up my life. Hence why the flow chart had come into existence, and I was fairly certain at least some of Bobby’s motivation for watching my back at the clubs in the early days came from him. Ranger liked to keep tabs on his responsibilities and since we hadn’t had much of a chance to talk personal shit in the last month since Phoebe and I got hitched, he’d apparently decided that now, with our family a dozen or so feet away, was the perfect time.

“I’m just checking you have everything under control,” he pointed out, lifting two beers out of the cooler nearby and passing me one.

“I’ve found a balance,” I explained vaguely, taking a long pull from the bottle as our fathers broke away from the group and approached. There was no doubt in my mind that Ranger was aware of their imminent arrival, but he didn’t let it deter him from pursuing the line of questioning he’d begun.

“Does that balance require you to-“ he started to ask as Dad and Tío Ricardo retrieved their own beverages and joined us by the door.

I cut him off, though it was more due to exhaustion with the topic than a haste to cover it up from our fathers. Having to repeatedly explain to people that I wasn’t going to cheat on Phoebe just to get some relief had gotten real old, real fast. It was like just because I had a reputation for being a serial one-night-stander no one could comprehend the fact that I might actually have an honourable bone in my body.

“I’m not stepping out on my wife in order to maintain appropriate levels of stress, okay?” I said. “Is that what you all want to hear?” I looked from Ranger, to Ricardo, to Dad before averting my gaze to just above Ranger’s left brow. Normally, I had no problem discussing my sex life, but for some reason, between the other party involved in my sex life at the moment and the fact that my father was standing right there listening, I was feeling awkward. Discussing a floozy I’d spent a few hours with was completely different to explaining the inner workings of my marriage, but apparently, it needed to be done. “If I have sexual needs, I am currently fulfilling them with Phoebe.” I told the eyebrow.

And wasn’t that an experience and a half? I hadn’t been with the same woman more than once since I was going steady with Katie Newberry in high school. I’d forgotten how good it could be when someone had a chance to learn what you liked and use it to their advantage, heightening the sensations by applying pressure in just the right place at the right time, or subjecting you to a kind of sweet, sweet torture by denying the one touch your truly needed to fly over the edge or orgasmic bliss. I’d never had sex with a heavily pregnant woman before Phoebe, but we were making it work. She was more than willing to assist with my release if it meant I would return the favour.

Now Ranger _did_ look surprised. They all did, in fact. I’d finally done something that didn’t have them all rolling their eyes and asking “Again?” or “Still?” or remarking on how typical it was of me.

“Really?” Ranger questioned.

I nodded. “Yes. Really. We came to an agreement.”

Dad, perhaps for old time’s sake, rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might be in danger of falling out of his head. “So romantic,” he intoned sarcastically. He was trying to lighten the mood, having picked up on the subtle undercurrent of tension between us.

Family dinner at the Manoso’s was stressful enough without Ranger and me getting into a heated discussion about my life. But I wanted to set the record straight. Needed to. For as long as I could remember, I’d been subjected to low expectations and disappointment. My family loved me, but they wished I’d settle down and leave the ‘sowing my wild oats’ phase behind me. Well, that’s exactly what I was doing. I was many up and taking responsibility for my actions. So what if I still hadn’t achieved that mythical conventional relationship? I was doing the best I could with the hand I’d been dealt.

“I’m not aiming for romance at this stage, Dad,” I pointed out. “The best I could ever hope for with Phoebe is civility, and I think we’re managing that okay at the moment.”

Tío Ricardo looked like he wanted to chime in on the topic, but I was saved from whatever he had to add when Marco, Celia’s husband, joined out little circle. He slung an arm over my shoulder and used his other to deliver a slug to my bicep that might have hurt if I wasn’t conditioned to withstand much worse. “Heard you finally got some girl knocked up and had to marry her,” he said matter-of-factly. I could always count on Marco to say it like it was.

“Yep,” I confirmed, trying to muster my usual easy-going demeanour. “Phoebe’s inside, probably being interrogated by Celia by now.”

All four of the men sucked air in through their teeth. As the oldest Manoso child, Celia was well versed in the art of intimidation and getting to the heart of who a person truly was. She’d learned from watching her mother and Abuela, and practiced on all the friends her sisters and brothers brought home. These days she was so good you could almost believe she _wasn’t_ digging for secrets, but we all knew she was. Under that charming exterior was a woman hell-bent on protecting her family by any means necessary. Even Tío Ricardo, Celia’s own father, wasn’t safe from her mystery-delving ways. She was relentless to the point where we’d had to give up trying to throw surprise parties for her quite early on after she’d wheedled the information out of us six years in a row. Even when we’d been sure to keep the pertinent information spread across several people so that no one knew all the details, she’d managed to figure it out and turn it all around on us.

Honestly, the Manoso genes were potent enough that even without the military training Ranger would have been a force to be reckoned with. Celia was proof positive to support my theory. Mama liked to say that Celia had been destined to be a lawyer from the moment she’d learned to speak.

“Well,” Marco said brightly. “We’ll have her dirty laundry aired out by the end of the evening, then, won’t we? Between Celia, Mama and Abuela, if there’s any skeletons in the closet, we’ll know about them.”

Ranger, Dad, Ricardo and I all exchanged glances. We already knew about the skeletons in the closet. As did Mama and Tía Maria. Hopefully between their guidance, and Phoebe’s stubborn nature nothing too shocking would be circulating on the family group chat later tonight.

“Anyway,” Marco went on, seemingly oblivious to our little exchange, “I need your help with the grill. Luc is cremating the steaks.”

Tío Ricardo shook his head in dismay. “Better call the Padre for last rites; if Luc’s been left alone with the grill they’ll be ash already.”

“I have Tomás keeping an eye on him,” Marco assured his father-in-law, bending to retrieve a beer from the cooler. “But if we want them edible, we need Les to work his magic.”

We all looked over to the group by the grill except it wasn’t a group anymore. It was just Luc, the husband of the second eldest Manoso sibling, Marisol. Thirteen-year-old Tomás had apparently abandoned his uncle as soon as his father had stepped away, as had the rest of the men who were now joining in with the football game the kids had going out on the grass. I cringed as the flames jumped high enough to cause Luc to jump back in fright, letting out a very unmanly shriek. How did Luc always end up with the barbeque tongs when we all knew he couldn’t cook a steak to save his life?

“I’m gonna need some sauce,” I said, setting my now empty beer bottle on top of the cooler. I watched Luc attempt to turn the meat and grimaced. “Scratch that. Just bring me some fresh steaks and a pair of hand cuffs.”

“What are the cuffs for?” Dad asked suspiciously.

“To prevent Luc from ruining more perfectly good meat,” Ricardo replied easily.

*o*

When the meat was cooked, I carried it inside to the dining room where the women had set out salads, rolls and place settings for approximately a million people. Okay, it was more like twenty, but in a dining room made to fit maybe twelve at a stretch, cramming all the Manosos in always felt like the population had grown exponentially. I set the meat down in the middle of the table and lifted my eyes to meet Phoebe’s across the table where she was already seated, rubbing her stomach. With so many Manosos between us, it was impossible for me to ask how she was handling everything, so I just raised an eyebrow and tipped my head to the side. She nodded in a way that let me know she was fine, and I nodded to confirm that I understood.

As I turned away from the table to attempt to navigate my way to a seat, Steph suddenly appeared behind me looping an arm through mine so we could walk together without being separated. “She held her own under interrogation,” she informed me quietly. “Didn’t reveal anything more than necessary. I’m not sure she’s won anyone over, but they’ve at least accepted that she’s a part of the family from here on out.”

I nodded just the same way as I had to Phoebe, acknowledging her words but not building on it. It was risky to have such discussions within earshot of the rest of the family, knowing that any and all information they gathered from eavesdropping could be used against me in a court of Manoso Law. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her,” I said instead.

Steph shrugged, pulling out a seat right beside where Ranger was already seated. “You’re important to me, and she’s important to you; of course I’m going to look out for her in this mad house,” she replied nonchalantly, giving my arm one last squeeze before she shoved me further down the table towards my wife, her words ringing in my ears.

 _She’s important to you_.

I wouldn’t have worded it quite like that, but I couldn’t exactly deny that it was true. She wasn’t the love of my life by any means, not the woman I would have chosen to share my life with if given the chance, but she _was_ important. She was my wife. She was the woman bringing my child into the world.

I sat down beside her, absently caressing her elbow in a kind of gesture of hello. I don’t know when I’d started doing it, but it was a habit to touch her on the arm whenever we were reunited after a period of being apart. I’d found that the less words I used, the less likely I was to induce her anger, and she was actually incredibly receptive to human contact.

“How do you like the Manoso?” I asked as everyone began passing dishes and serving themselves the food laid out on the table.

“They’re a lot,” she replied honestly, passing me the rolls without taking one for herself. _Gluten_. “And I mean that in both the quantity and quality sense.”

I nodded for the third time since entering the dining room and wondered if someone had replaced my neck with a spring while I wasn’t looking to turn me into a bobble head. “You’re not wrong,” I agreed. “They were a lot to put up with _before_ they started pairing off and procreating, now they’ve managed to triple the number of crazy people in the house.”

We were quiet amongst the chatter as we continued filling our plates and passing the food around. I was pleased to see that Phoebe had found enough to eat, given her strict rules and the fact that I’d neglected to warn anyone about them. Was it an idly act of rebellion against her? I couldn’t confirm or deny it either way. I knew she needed to eat for the baby’s sake, so I was glad she’d found something, but on the other hand, most of her rules were fairly arbitrary. There was no medical reason that she could give me that she couldn’t or shouldn’t eat the foods she refused to eat.

You would have thought that when the dishes stopped moving and everyone started digging in that the room would have gotten quieter, since mouths were now occupied with eating rather than talking. You’d be wrong. The Manosos, with the exception of Ranger, were a loud bunch. Add in the distance that had to be cross if a person wanted to converse with someone at the other end of the table, and it only added to the noise. Unfortunately, while an ordinary bunch of people creating this much noise would have easily allowed for quieter, private conversations to slip under the radar, this could not be said for the Manosos.

“They’re all quite protective of you,” Phoebe mentioned. Her tone was casual, but I’d learned the subtle difference between truly casual and casual for the sake of digging for information early on in life. This was digging-for-information-casual. And the thing about a digging-for-information-casual tone was that the Manoso-Santos clan was highly attuned to it, so before I could even finish swallowing my mouthful, Marisol was interjecting from the other side of the table.

“That’s because he’s the baby!” she cried, making ridiculous goo-goo doll faces at me.

“And the most likely to do something stupid,” Celia added knowingly, raising an eyebrow at me as if to say _Exhibit A: sitting right next to you._ No one had ever confirmed it, but there was no doubt in my mind that she’d been consulted when Ranger had been coming up with the flow chart of rights and responsibilities in the event that I accidentally knocked a chick up. He would have been stupid not to.

“Like the time he annoyed the neighbour’s dog so much it jumped the fence and chased him down the street,” Isabella chimed in.

“Or when he was trying to convince Tomás that chillis were named chillis because they were cold, not hot, and he ate the entire habanero in one mouthful and then tried to pretend like he wasn’t in acute agony when Abuela was on a war path looking for whoever had eaten the chilli she’d bought to go in that night’s dinner,” Marco chimed in.

“Or when he followed Carlos into the army,” Abuela said.

That brought the conversation to an abrupt stand still. The silence was almost complete, with just the younger children continuing their murmured conversations while the adults froze, exchanged glances, and then started shovelling food into their mouths to avoid the topic.

Phoebe looked from face to face, finally landing on me as I was meticulously slicing a piece of meat to stick in my mouth. “I don’t understand what just happened,” she said, breaking the silence.

I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” she pushed. “How is you joining the army a stupid move?”

I noticed no one wanted to jump in an answer for me _this_ time. Probably they could sense that the truthful answer would upset the apple cart. And why wouldn’t it? Despite the horrors I’d endured, I counted my military career as one of the best things I’d done, but no matter how much I tried to get the rest of the family to agree with me, they couldn’t see past my womanising ways. And now, they were implying that if I hadn’t followed Ranger’s lead and joined the army, I wouldn’t be in my current predicament, married to a woman I didn’t love with a baby on the way.

I could see their rationale, but they couldn’t guarantee that I wouldn’t have turned out to be a ladies’ man if I _hadn’t_ joined the army and turned to sex as a coping mechanism. Their refusal to let it go and stop blaming Ranger for my decisions was one of the only issues I had with my family. Just because I used to worship the ground he walked on does not mean that he is responsible for every stupid mistake I’d made in my life. I mean, honestly! Did I join a gang and get caught hijacking a car just because Ranger did? No! I knew it wasn’t a good idea and actually tried to talk him out of it.

I didn’t just blindly follow in his footsteps. I knew what I was getting into when I joined the army. I knew what was in store for me when I signed a contract with the government. And I knew the risks when I started sleeping around to get rid of the tension filling my body from the nightmares. The only thing I didn’t know was why they couldn’t accept that I was wholly responsible for my actions.

“We’ll talk about it later,” I told Phoebe a little too bluntly, setting down my cutlery and pushing back from the table. “Excuse me.” And I retreated from the room to get my own temper under control before I lashed out at the wrong person and caused an all-out war at the dinner table.


	30. Chapter 29

** Chapter 29 **

Past

“Did I do something wrong?” Phoebe asked as she slid into the passenger seat. She’d learned from the trek into the house upon arrival that she did not want to repeat the adventure on the way out. The sun and the temperature may have dipped, but it was still muggy outside, so I’d left her on the porch with my mother while I went to retrieve the SUV from down the street.

“Of course not,” I assured her, running a hand through my hair as I waited for her to buckle up. “You were polite and charming, just like I knew you would be. I couldn’t have hoped that you would hold up to the Manoso Inquisition any better.”

Once securely belted into the vehicle, she crossed her arms loosely on top of her stomach, sending me a dangerous side eye. I was apparently skating on thin ice despite my complements to her behaviour this evening. Deciding not to say any more and risk digging myself any further into the hole I’d already started than necessary, I waved to my mother, still standing on the porch, watching us, and pulled away from the curb. We managed a good two minutes of silence before Phoebe spoke again, trying a different angle to get to the bottom of my mood.

“You’re angry,” she said.

It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t respond. A risky move, I knew, but I wasn’t feeling chatty, especially about the can of worms she seemed determined to wrench open. There was a twenty year well of familial disapproval brimming beneath the surface, and I wasn’t even entirely sure why it had boiled over into the anger and frustration I was feeling now. I’d always weathered their comments with ease, brushing them off with jokes and volleying their teasing with digs of my own. But tonight I’d almost snapped. I’d been _this close_ to lashing out at the family I loved more than anything in the world. They may be pains in my ass, but they didn’t deserve a domestic dispute disrupting dinner.

“I have to assume you’re angry at me,” Phoebe said after another few minutes of me silently glaring at the road ahead. “I’ve never seen you that frustrated with anyone else.”

She wasn’t wrong. I’d been angry a lot in the last few months, and almost every time she had been the object of my ire. Sure, I’d channelled plenty of fury at skips, but that was a different kind of anger, and Phoebe had never had the opportunity to witness it.

“It’s not you,” I said on a sigh, glancing over at her in the dark cab so she would know I was telling the truth. “It’s my family.”

I caught the furrow of her brow before I returned my eyes to the road. I’d confused her, but I hadn’t silenced her attempts to get me to open up. “I thought you loved your family,” she pointed out. “You get along great with them. _All_ of them. It’s actually a little baffling how so many people can be in the same house and no one argues.”

“We’ve always been close,” I agreed. “But we’re not without the usual family drama. We’ve had showdowns that would put westerns to shame in the past, but things have levelled out in the last few years. Now we have an unspoken rule to keep the drama away family dinners. If we have a beef we try to deal with it quietly and maturely.”

“And let me guess,” she said, and I could hear the smirk in her voice. “You were on the brink of breaking that rule?”

I just nodded. No point in denying it.

“What got your goat?”

More silence filled the vehicle as she waited for me to respond, but I refused to give in. There was too much still for me to tease out from the heart of the problem so that I could properly understand why I was suddenly feeling the way I was feeling, and I didn’t think I could do that effectively by explaining the whole sorry backstory.

“We agreed to communicate, Lester,” she reminded me.

“And I said we’d discuss it later,” I countered.

“It _is_ later.” She shifted in her seat, running a hand over her belly before settling her hands more casually on top. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to start guessing,” she informed me, dangling the threat in the air like a sharpened carrot. She knew I preferred to drive in silence, at least where she was concerned. We may have been getting along, but there was only so much of her inane chatter I could put up with in a day, and if I had to spend time with her outside of the car, the least she could do was allow me the travel time to find my centre. I definitely would prefer if she just dropped the subject entirely, but, like Steph, she was like a dog with a bone when there was a mystery she wanted to solve.

“It definitely has something to do with Ranger and you joining the army,” she reasoned, tapping her chin. “Ranger said that Maria respected his military career but wouldn’t accept references to his nickname in her house.”

A groan escaped me before I could stop it. Not only was she really doing this, toying with the frustrations already simmering just under my skin, but she was on the right track, which meant she may get to a point where I felt the need to clarify points. And if that happened, I may as well just give in and tell her the issue.

“There’s a stigma over military service in your family?” she guessed.

I shook my head no, but still didn’t say anything, clenching my jaw instead.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “They were listing out stupid decisions you’d made when they mentioned you joining the army – no, you _following Ranger_ into the army.” A pause while she puzzled over this detail some more, probably replaying the scene in her head. I know I was. “They all got quiet after that, and then you refused to explain and walked out.”

She was boiling hot, hovering just inches from the heart of my issues, but still, I couldn’t find it in myself to open my trap and put her questioning to rest. It would be so easy to explain about the opinions my family had developed of my actions over the years, the pressure they put, not on me, but on my cousin. A man who, but all accounts, had been screwing up his own life for longer than the perceived influence he’d had on my own. I’d long ago accepted that I would always be the baby, and they would always want to protect me, but for some reason tonight’s normal, expected bout of commentary had cracked something open inside me.

“I have to assume that they respect your military career as much as they respect Ranger’s,” she reasoned out, and I could feel her staring at me. Probably, if I deigned to look, she’d have the same look on her face that she got when she was deep in concentration reading through rental agreements for loopholes. “But there’s something related to it that they don’t approve of if they’re willing to call you joining up a stupid idea.”

That did it. I couldn’t take it anymore. “It’s about the sex,” I told her flatly. “They don’t like the endless one night stands. They disapprove of my choice of lifestyle.”

“Huh,” she said, leaning back against the seat once again. “I thought for sure I was on the right track.”

“You were,” I assured her. “When I returned from active duty, I struggled with PTSD. I went to therapy, I tried all the solutions the quacks threw at me, but my stress and tension remained unreasonably high. I isolated myself from everyone, concerned that I would inadvertently lash out and cause them harm. It wasn’t until Ranger and they guys pushed their way into my apartment and dragged me out to a bar that things finally turned around. I got on the drink and I picked up a woman, went home with her, fucked her senseless. And I felt better. It was like sex with that unknown woman had sloughed off the worst of the experiences I’d been carrying around with me. It allowed me to relax. The next day I was like a new man. I felt like I could function again. I _could_ function again.”

I paused, finally allowing myself to glance at her. The expression on her face was not one of disgust or disdain, but one of interest. I’d managed to surprise her and now she wanted to know the rest of the story. “From then on, whenever I felt the stress and pressure getting to be too much, I knew exactly what to do about it. Go out and fuck a woman. It became so much of a pattern that Ranger felt the need to introduce that ever so helpful ‘So you’ve gotten and woman pregnant!’ flow chart I shared with you.”

“He was worried you’d get a woman pregnant?”

I nodded slowly. “He was worried I’d follow in his footsteps in that regard as well,” I explained. “I’d always admired my only male cousin, followed him around everywhere when we were younger, wanted to do everything he did. It’s how I broke my arm when I was nine. Determined to be just like Primo.” I shook my head at myself. “He and his friends were going cliff jumping, so of course I tagged along. I watched all the older boys jump, and then it was my turn. I was nervous. I ran forward just the way I’d seen them all do, but I tried to chicken out at the last moment. Instead of flying gracefully and diving into the water, I slipped off the edge of the cliff, banging my arm in the process and landed on the water with a full body flop.”

“Ouch,” she commented.

“Tell me about it,” I agreed, absently rubbing the place where a plate and screws were still holding my bones in place eleven years later. “Mama and Dad had had a lot of trouble conceiving, which is why I’m so much younger than my cousins, and why I’m an only child. They were furious that Carlos had allowed something to happen to their little miracle. Carlos received a stern talking to about not leading me astray. It was the first of many such admonishments. As time went by it became clear that even though I was the one making the decision to do stupid things, if Ranger was involved, he copped the blame for anything that happened to me. So, when I joined the army a few years after Ranger did, it was obviously because of his influence. And when I was injured in the line of duty, that was Ranger’s fault because I wouldn’t have been in the situation I the first place if I hadn’t joined the army. And when I turned to sex to help deal with my stress, that was on Ranger too.”

“And Ranger just accepted the blame?”

“He’s a protector by nature,” I explained. “Even if he didn’t have the pressure from the family, he would have done everything within his power to ensure I was all right. He accepts the responsibility of not letting me fuck up my life because I’m basically his baby brother and he’d hate for anything to happen to me.”

“So, the flow chart?” she prompted, leaving her question vague.

“Early on in his army career he was in Miami on leave and had a drunken weekend with a woman. Shipped out the next week. When he returned stateside, she tracked him down, pregnant belly and all. He married her. Trapped himself in a loveless marriage for the better part of a year. The only reason it lasted as long as it did was because he spent the majority of that year away on deployment. He didn’t want the same fate for me, especially knowing how the family would view the situation. So, he developed the flow chart and he and the guys drilled it into me until it was second nature. And he made sure I had rules and boundaries that I wouldn’t cross.”

Another silence pervaded the SUV as I turned off the highway and started winding through the streets of Trenton toward home. I felt sure I’d given her enough information that she could figure out the rest of my problem if she was given enough time, and I thought I might just allow her that time now.

“So, when they were listing the stupid things you’d done, and Abuela brought up the army, they weren’t just referring to your service to the country?” she questioned after a while. “They were referring to everything that came afterward with the one night stands, and your ladies’ man reputation, and the fact that you have, indeed, managed to follow in your cousin’s footsteps on the knocking a woman up front as well, despite his best efforts?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you’re angry?”

“Yup.” I popped the ‘p’ explosively as I pulled into the driveway. “It suddenly hit me that they were blaming Ranger for me sleeping with you and you getting pregnant, and it’s just not right. I’m a grown-ass man and I’m responsible for my own-ass actions!” I slammed my hand against the steering wheel as the garage door closed behind us. “I’m doing my best to make the right choices now that we’re in this situation, so why should Ranger still be at fault? Did he tell me to start sleeping with every woman that caught my eye? No. Did he personally fertilize your egg with my sperm?”

“God, I hope not, that sounds creepy,” Phoebe interrupted with a half laugh, managing to disrupt the full head of steam I’d been building. “I get it. You’re sick of your family treating you like a baby. Maybe, instead of storming off and sulking in the kitchen, you should have confronted them on so you can work to move past it.”

She had a point, but the last time I’d tried to assert my responsibility for my action and absolve Ranger of any and all fault in the way my life had turned out, Mama had ended up in tears, and Abuela had hit me with a wooden spoon for bringing drama to the dining table. I shook my head, feeling the phantom stinging sensation of the cooking utensil connecting with my shoulders and head.

I let out a sigh, astonished to find that talking it through with Phoebe had actually helped to straighten out my thoughts and clear away some of the anger I’d been carrying in my chest. Who’d have thought? “No,” I said, slowly unbuckling my seatbelt and reaching into the back seat for the obligatory brown paper bag of leftovers. “The dinner table isn’t the place to hash that shit out. I’ll have to call a family meeting for that. Submit my agenda in advance so everyone has time to prepare.”

Her eyebrows flew into her hairline as she met me at the door that lead through to the mud room. “Seriously?”

I laughed and shook my head, unlocking the door and waving for her to precede me inside. “No. I don’t really have to submit my agenda, but I should definitely call a meeting a set the record straight once and for all.”

She nodded agreement as we both made our way down the hall to the kitchen. “Are you still angry?” she asked casually, leaning one hand against the counter with the other resting on top of her pregnant mound as I put the food away. What she really wanted to know was weather I needed stress relief.

“I’m okay,” I said with a shrug. Noting the disappointment that claimed her expression, I added, “But if you need some help relieving any tension I can see to it before I turn in if you like.”


	31. Chapter 30

** Chapter 30 **

Present

I let out a heavy sigh as I leaned my head back against the headrest of the passenger seat. We’d managed to get all the patrons out of the library unharmed, but it had not been without it’s drama. It reminded me distinctly of the kind of crazy situation that usually cropped up around Steph. She’d only been out of the field for a couple of weeks since finding out she was pregnant, but I guess the crazy was still out there regardless and the rest of Rangeman was going to have to start picking up the slack on that front.

“That was a shit show,” Ranger announced, sliding behind the wheel. I listed my head to the side so I could peer at him. “Who the hell holds toddler rhyme time hostage?”

“A desperate, grieving father,” I replied solemnly, returning my eyes forward and allowing myself a few moments to run the events of the afternoon through my mind now that it was over. The terror on the mothers’ faces, the crying children. The tension filling every man tasked with getting them out of there safe and sound. But most of all, the story of how a model citizen like Anthony Alessi found himself storming into the library with a gun and a vendetta.

At age twenty-five, Anthony’s life had been trundling along perfectly. He’d married his high school sweetheart straight out of college, bought a house in the Burg where he’d grown up, got a job at the button factory as an engineer. Before long he and his wife had welcomed a son into the world. They were thrilled. Life was good.

As little Tony grew, Anthony’s wife, Brandy, started taking him to age-appropriate sessions at the library. They attended every week, loving the opportunity to socialise with other mothers and children. And that is where Brandy met Melissa Graham, a fellow mother attending the sessions, and the woman that would change the course of her life forever.

Brandy and Melissa started getting together for play dates. Play dates that were not only for their children, but for themselves as well. They were getting along like a house on fire, which in retrospect, was fitting. Brandy announced to her husband two and a half months ago that she was, in fact, a lesbian and could no longer be with him. She requested a divorce and promptly moved out of their Burg home to go live with her lover, Melissa, taking Tony with her.

Unfortunately, just three weeks after she’d made the big change, she was in the utility room in the basement tending to the ever present pile of laundry that came part and parcel with young children when the fuse box exploded spreading fire faster than Brandy and Tony could get out. The apartments above were quickly evacuated, but emergency services were unable to get to the basement in time save the mother and toddler.

That was six weeks ago. Today, on what would have been his dear son’s third birthday, Anthony was overcome by the grief of having not only been left by his wife for another woman, but that her actions had, in a round about way, lead to the death of his young son. He’d decided to seek out the woman responsible for his anguish, and, knowing that his wife and Melissa had attended toddler rhyme time at the library religiously, had stormed in and taken extreme measures to demand where ‘that bitch’ Melissa was.

Fortunately, Melissa had not been in attendance at today’s session, but children’s library Nadine has been. She’d called Rangeman on the number on the card I’d given her when I’d been flirting and asked for me. When informed that I was unavailable she’d quickly spat out the details of the situation to Cal and he’d mobilised a team before she’d even finished explaining.

We’d arrived on the scene swiftly, beating the first responders who had also been notified of the situation, and I hadn’t hesitated to enter the library, Bobby on my heels. While I tried to talk Anthony out of his gun, Bobby, Binky and Hank had started quickly and quietly herded the library patrons and staff out of the building ad out of harms way. We were lucky that Anthony had enough wits about him that he was only seeking to harm one person, so he’d let the others go without protest.

As he was reaching the climax of his story, of his story, though, waving the gun around haphazardly, a uniformed cop knocked a book off a shelf, startling Anthony. His finger squeezed on the trigger. The bullet he let fly connected with my upper arm. And in the next second, he was pinned to the ground by two Rangeman and three uniforms. The gun had been removed, handcuffs applied, crisis averted.

“You can’t tell me you wouldn’t go to extremes to seek revenge if something happened to Steph and the baby,” I pointed out after a few minutes of silence had passed. I was plagued by thoughts of the lengths I would go to if McKenzie was suddenly ripped from my life. Ranger had killed men for lesser offences where his Babe was concerned, and I knew I’d be hard pressed to keep myself from going off the deep end if something happened to my daughter. As I was contemplating the possibility, though, the fleeting image of Grace’s smiling face flashed up in my mind’s eye, not for the first time since the Anthony had started explaining his affliction, and my heart clenched a little tighter.

Ranger inclined his head to acknowledge the truth in my statement but chose not to comment. Out of the corner of my eye I noted the tick in his jaw, letting me know that his thoughts were just as dark as mine were. I needed to diffuse the tension in the car before we made it back to my place and faced our girls.

“How’s she handling the pregnancy?” I asked, even though the first question that ran through my mind. I wasn’t sure now was the time to ask that one though. I wasn’t sure it was even a question that I would need to ask. Perhaps I just needed more time to figure out what my reactions were telling me.

“She’s understandably apprehensive,” Ranger replied easily, and I thought he was grateful for the opportunity to push away the ideas I’d introduced to his thoughts and focus on reality instead. “You know she’s never really seen herself as maternal.”

“A gross oversight on her part,” I pointed out. “Anyone who’s had the honour of hanging out with her knows that’s a complete lie. She’ll be an amazing mother.”

He nodded his agreement once more and continued to explain how his wife was handling the new development in their life. “The morning sickness isn’t helping her acceptance,” he said. “She’s not used to not wanting to eat, so it’s been a battle to find the right foods to motivate her while still getting all the nutrients she needs.”

“If only donuts came in a healthy and delicious meal supplement variety,” I joked.

“And then there’s the desk work,” he added, sending me a look that showed exactly how well Steph was handling being stuck behind a desk, as if I hadn’t noticed her mild mania recently. She’d was amazing at the searches she performed for Rangeman on the side of her bounty hunting, without the bounty hunting to break up the monotony of the computer work, she was slowly climbing up the wall, and dragging the rest of the office with her.

I laughed at Ranger’s bugged out eyes, understanding his assessment of the situation completely. “She wasn’t built for sitting still any more than you were, Primo,” I reminded him. “Find something she can do to get out of the building while still remaining out of harm’s way.”

The corners of his mouth lifted in one of his little smile attempts. “That’s exactly what I had on the agenda to get done this afternoon,” he informed me.

Now it was my turn to nod. “Not exactly how I envisioned my afternoon going either,” I agreed with his unspoken sentiments, and because I felt that we were in danger of returning to that dark place we’d started the journey in, I made the split second decision to follow through on the other question that was lingering in the back of my mind, consequences be damned. “While we’re on the topic of Steph,” I started, earning me a sidelong glance. “I was wondering if you could shed some light on something for me.”

Not knowing where I was going with this line of questioning about his wife, Ranger chose to keep quiet and wait for more information before he committed to responding. I didn’t miss the way his grip on the steering wheel tightened, though. I had one chance to get this right without offending him or I’d never get the insights I was after.

“I know you were attracted to her straight away, but-.” I paused barely a second when he raised an eyebrow, glancing at me questioningly. This was not where he’d thought the conversation was going, and in the face of his surprise, I found myself doubting if I should actually follow through with it. Surely I could figure it out on my own, but Ranger’s life experiences and advice had always served me well in the past, so I thought maybe it could help me sort out my feelings this time as well.

“When did you know that she was the one for you?” I finally asked in a rush.

“Seriously?” he queried, staring at me as he waited for an intersection to clear so we could continue on our way. I just nodded. “What’s this about?”

“I just wanted to know,” I said with a shrug, even though I knew there was no chance I could keep the real reason for the question now that I’d revealed it.

Ranger shook his head, removing his hard stare from my face and pointing it forward as the car started moving again. “You’ve had eight years to ask about it,” he pointed out, the wheels turning almost visibly in his head. “Why now?”

I shrugged and winced when the movement caused a stab of pain in my upper arm letting me know that the injection Bobby had given me to numb the area while he stitched me up was wearing off. “Because I thought it seemed like the right time,” I said, knowing it was a terrible defence even before it left my mouth.

“It’s about that Grace woman, isn’t it?”

A groan escaped me as the mention of her name brought her face to mind once more. I should have been surprised, though. I’d found it almost impossible to keep her out of my head since the recital, and even with Kenzie being sick today, the intensity of her dominance over my thoughts had only increased since seeing her again last night. I’d never experienced this with any other woman, and it was doing my head in. I didn’t know how to function with her smile constantly floating through my brain. I needed to know if what I was feeling was normal, if it meant what I thought it might mean, or if I was just infatuated with a pretty woman and my brain was responding differently than usual for some reason. Knowing that Ranger had guessed so easily the purpose of my questioning, though, I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about it all. The last time I’d gone to him for advice on a woman was when I’d first found out that Phoebe was pregnant. This was a very different kettle of fish.

“Can we just focus on you and Steph, please?” I requested as Ranger pulled into my driveway.

He shut the car off and turned to face me, that unreadable expression on his face. “I don’t have a simple answer for you, because I happened to have my head pretty far up my own ass for a good couple of years after I met her, as you know. But I guess when she willingly put herself in harms way to save Julie I had a bit of a wake-up call.”

Another frustrated groan wrenched itself from my chest as I undid my seatbelt and opened the door. “That doesn’t help me,” I informed him.

“If you want my advice,” he offered as we both slid from the vehicle at the same time the front door opened to reveal Steph, waiting for our return. “Don’t rush in and skip to a physical relationship too soon. If you’re feeling as strongly about her as I think you are you need to take your time and get to know her, be her friend first and foremost.”

“Serious faces,” Steph interrupted, stepping out onto the porch as we approached. “Did everything go okay?”

“Fine,” I assured her, then pointing to my arm, added, “I was the only injury.”

“Poor baby,” she pouted, stroking my cheek as she moved aside to let me pass into my own home. She did not afford her husband the same opportunity though, wrapping her arms around his neck and sealing their lips together.

I rolled my eyes, pushing down that familiar jealousy, and left them to their reunion. I made my way through to the mud room, removing my boots as visions of Grace floated through my head once more, accompanied by Ranger’s latest words of wisdom. There were so many ways I could screw this up. And what’s worse, Kenzie seemed to really like Grace as well, so if I made a mistake and drove her away, I’d be hurting not only my own heart, but that of my daughter as well. That was last thing I wanted to do.

By the time I returned to the hall, Steph and Ranger had managed to disengage from each other enough to come inside and close the door, but were still lost in an intimate moment as they murmured quietly to one another. I’d just turned to go in search of my sick little girl when Steph apparently managed to pull herself away from her husband and start giving a report.

“She’s in the living room, napping,” she informed me. “She wasn’t feeling very well this afternoon, so I called Ella to double check what I should to help relieve the symptoms and we watched a movie together until she fell asleep. I was just about to wake her up and find some dinner when I heard the car pull into the driveway.”

I smiled, pulling her into a one-armed hug and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Thanks, Beautiful,” I said as I released her. I knew she loved hanging out with McKenzie but was not confident on the care of a sick child, so her agreement to take on the challenge today was a big step for her. It would have been just as easy to send Ella, a mother-hen guru, in her place and avoid the situation altogether. The conversation from the car ran through my mind, and I squeezed her arm before stepping away. “You’re gonna be a great mom,” I assured her.


	32. Chapter 31

** Chapter 31 **

Present

I took the time to stash my weaponry and change my shirt before heading to the living room where Kenzie was sleeping. The sleeve of the shirt I put on wasn’t necessarily any longer than that of my black Rangeman v-neck, and it certainly didn’t hide the white bandage on my upper arm from view, but it had the benefit of not being torn and crusted with dried blood. That a would go a long way toward easing Kenzie’s concern for me welfare when she saw it. I’d come home with bandages before, but I always tried to avoid letting her see the soiled clothing side of things if I could.

By the time I’d roused her from her nap, assessed her condition and allowed her to do the same of mine, explaining what had happened and how Bobby had patched me up so she knew I was all right, Ranger and Steph had managed to pull themselves away from each other and had assembled a quick dinner of the leftover soup that Ella had sent over with Steph and grilled cheese sandwiches.

As we ate, Kenzie gave us a blow by blow of her time with Auntie Steph, including the portion of the story about Phoebe I’d suggested they discuss, stopping occasionally spoon soup into her mouth or submit to a coughing fit. She then started in on the follow up questions that had accumulated in her mind while she’d been napping.

“Why were you mad?” she asked first up.

“Because they were teasing me and blaming Uncle Los-Los for my mistakes,” I said, cringing internally as I noted that I’d just referred to my beloved daughter as a mistake. She hadn’t been planned, sure, but just because enduring a relationship with her mother had been the worst years of my life didn’t mean I regretted or resented McKenzie’s existence. She was my whole heart. I didn’t think I could live without her at this point.

I tried to push away thoughts of another female that had the potential to be just as important to me if I played my cards right, and focused back in on Kenzie as she frowned, rubbing her eyes. It was obvious that she was still tired from her nap, wouldn’t be long before she’d be giving up the fight against sleep once more. “Did you tell them to stop?” she asked, coughing lightly.

I nodded. “Not right away, but I did.”

“Good,” she said firmly. She folded her arms on the edge of the table, resting her chin on her arms and letting out another big yawn. “We don’t like bullies.”

Smiling, I reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear so I could see her face properly. “That’s exactly right, Muffin-head,” I agreed, even as I acknowledged that her own mother had been just that. I hoped that I was raising Kenzie the right way and that she wouldn’t turn into a selfish, manipulative woman when she grew up. I’d worked hard at making sure to instil good values in her from the beginning, but I wasn’t convinced that genetics didn’t have something to do with it. I saw flashes of Phoebe in the set of her mouth when she was upset, or the way she’d eye me when she was deep in thought. The possibility that nature might have more of an influence over her demeanour than nurture did scared the shit out of me.

I’d voiced my concerns to Mama one Wednesday evening when Kenzie was just two. It had only been a few weeks since Phoebe died, and I’d been struggling to find the appropriate balance in my life in the wake of the life changing event. Mama and Dad had come to stay with Kenzie and I while I’d sorted out funeral arrangements and what to do with all of Phoebe’s things, but they’d returned home the previous weekend when I’d assured her I’d be all right. The only way for me to figure out a routine that worked for Kenzie and I was to jump in with both feet, and I couldn’t do that with my parents waiting in the wings to swoop in and rescue us if something went wrong.

Ella had graciously offered to look after Kenzie while I was working, but I couldn’t accept in good conscience knowing that she, too, was constantly on the job keeping Rangeman from falling apart behind the scenes. Instead, I’d managed to secure a spot at a reputable and secure day care just down the road. I’d taken Mama with me to check it out before she left for home to make sure she approved of the environment where her granddaughter would be spending much of her formative years.

Sunday afternoon, Mama and Dad had left for home. Monday morning, I’d undergone the heartbreaking experience of walking out the door of the day care centre while my daughter cried loudly for her Daddy. Wednesday evening I’d felt like the worst person in the world when I arrived to pick Kenzie up and had been informed that she’d snatching toys and hitting other kids. The woman had assured me it was normal for children of her age, and especially considering her circumstances, but I couldn’t help but feel like a failure of a father.

After tucking Kenzie into bed that night, I’d collapsed on the couch and called my mother, unloading all the shame and anxiety that was weighing on my soul in the face of the reality that I was now the sole carer for this precocious toddler. It was my job to shepherd her into adulthood with good morals and a sense of right and wrong. In the face of the report I’d received from the day care, I thought I’d started the game a thousand points behind. I hated pinning the blame on Phoebe, it was terrible to speak ill of the dead, but I couldn’t excuse the fact that she hadn’t been a all-together nice person, or that she’d been the primary caregiver for the last two years.

Mama had assured me that McKenzie’s behaviour was probably just a reaction to the change in routine. She was used to staying at home with Phoebe and, in the last few weeks, her Abuela, and now she’d been thrust into an unfamiliar environment with unfamiliar people. Mama had advised perseverance and reminding my daughter that hurting people was the way to go, along with considering allowing her one or two days a week with Ella to maintain a more familiar environment especially while we were still dealing with the after-effects of Phoebe’s death. I’d heeded her advice, of course, and eventually seen an improvement in Kenzie’s behaviour. And over time the ratio of day care to Ella days slowly shifted until by the time Kenzie was four years old she was spending her days helping Ella around Rangeman and I was supplementing her socialisation with play groups and the ever favourite library sessions.

Temper tantrums were rare these days, but when she let loose, it was a sight to behold, and it never failed to float that question of nature versus nurture to the forefront of my mind once again. Looking at her now, though, you wouldn’t think she was capable of such fury. She was quiet for a while, just watching me with those big, awe-filled eyes that always made my chest swell with pride. It was the kind of look that swept away all the doubts I’d ever had about my success as a father, made me wish I’d been a better person in the past, and strengthened my resolve to do the right thing in the future. Anything to keep her looking at me like that.

We were waiting for more questions - because they never seemed to stop with this kid - but none came. Instead, her breaths became slow and deep, her eyelids drooping, like she was being hypnotised.

“We should get going so you can put this little girl to bed,” Steph said, stacking the few dishes she could reach without getting up.

“Good idea, I agreed as Ranger nodded and took over the plate stacking, carrying all our dishes over to the sink. “We should get a toothbrush in that mouth while it’s still yawning,” I added, poking my finger into her mouth when it hinged open once more.

Kenzie’s head jerked up, then, eyes alert even as she fought yet another yawn. “Can Uncle Los-Los read me a story before bed?”

A glance at Ranger revealed a barely perceptible nod of agreement, but he wisely chose to keep the communication silent, leaving the decision to me. Returning my gaze to my daughter, I was assaulted by premium, Santos-grade puppy-dog eyes. I let out a sigh. How could I say no to that face? She was sick, she was tired, and all she was asking was for her uncle to read her a bedtime story.

“Alright,” I conceded. “Put on your PJs, clean your teeth and we’ll give Uncle Los-Los the honour of tucking you in.”

*o*

Monday evening, Kenzie was dashing through the house in her underwear, giggling madly as she evaded my best efforts to catch her. Her nose had stopped running, she’d made it through the day without the need for medication or a nap, and her cough was now almost non-existent. I decided she was well enough to go to school the next day.

I thought she would fight me on the issue, given how much fun she’d had with Steph on Friday and Ella today, and taking into account my own eagerness to get out of school when I was a kid. The reality of the situation though, was the exact opposite. Thank. God. When I’d finally managed to snag her around the waist and deposit her into the warm, strawberry bubbles-filled bath I’d drawn before the chase and told her she was going to school in the morning, she’d sheered. As she shouted her excitement to get back to learning, I resolved that this side of Kenzie could only have come from Phoebe’s genes.

Sure, I’d emphasised the importance of education, but I couldn’t deny the fact that I wasn’t enthused by the act of learning. Phoebe, on the other hand, had been studying a Master of Business Administration online the entire time I’d known her. In fact, she’d been working on an assignment for the course when she’d gone into labour and refused to go to the hospital until she’d completed and submitted it.

I shook my head, clearing the thoughts from my mind as I lathered shampoo into Kenzie’s hair. I should start thinking of how I’d skirt around the specifics of childbirth in order to tell that part of the tale, I realised. At the rate we were moving through the story, it wouldn’t be long before we reached it.

“Daddy?” Kenzie asked shielding her eyes from the water cascading over her head as I rinsed the soap from her hair.

“Yes, McKenzie?” I replied, matching her prim tone as I folded my hands on the side of the tub.

“Auntie Steph said that when you took Mommy to Manoso family dinner you didn’t have a name for me yet.” She laid her hands on mine, peering into my face curiously. “But I don’t know how I ended up with my name?”

My smile faltered briefly at the memory of our initial name discussion, but I managed to cover it up by unceremoniously dumping another scoopful of water over my daughters head under the guise of rinsing out the last few bubbles. “We picked it out together,” I explained, while she sputtered, and laughed, spraying me with the water that gathered on her lips.

“You and me?” she clarified when she’d pushed her sopping hair out of her eyes and wiped a hand over her face.

“Me and Mommy,” I corrected. I squirted some conditioner into my hand and started massaging it into lengths of her hair. Conditioner was an important, never to be missed, step. I’d learned that the hard way. Without conditioner, Kenzie’s wild, wavy locks became absolutely unmanageable. “It took a long time because we didn’t agree on what your name should be.”

Kenzie paused in the act of constructing a bubble beard on her face and sighed, executing a Plum-worthy eye roll. “Daddy, did you and Mommy agree on anything?”

I shook my head. “Not very often, it seems.”


	33. Chapter 32

** Chapter 32 **

Past

“What are you doing?” I asked, pausing in the doorway that used to act as the gateway between my home-office-slash-gym and the rest of the house. Recently, the desk had been squeezed into my bedroom, and the free weights treadmill had take up residence in the shed out back. Filling the space they’d left was a suite of nursery furniture: the cot my father had brought over, a change table, chest of drawers, rocking chair, and toy chest.

I’d let Phoebe pick it all out online, lending my debit card to the occasion to cover the cost. When it had arrived in flat pack boxes, I’d spent a week of evenings assembling it all, and when Saturday afternoon, I’d submitted to several hours of dragging the pieces around the room until she was happy with the layout. Now, though, my seven-and-a-half-month pregnant wife appeared to be dragging everything back into the middle of the room.

“Lester!” she exclaimed, turning to face me and leaning against the cot she’d managed to haul a foot away from the wall. “How’d your family meeting go?” She was breathing heavily, sweat beading on her brow despite the air conditioner running full blast.

I sighed, holding out the bottle of water I’d grabbed for myself from the fridge on my way through. “It was tense, but they let me say my piece and I think they understand my point of view. They agreed to stop blaming Ranger for my transgressions.” I leaned a hip against the cot beside her and allowed a lopsided grin to cross my face. “Of course, that now means that I’ve lost my get out of jail free card. Can’t hide behind Ranger anymore.”

“That should make him happy,” she suggested, coming up from a long gulp of water.

“I’m not so sure,” I countered, travelling my gaze around the room she’d put in disorder while I’d been out. “He never complained about having the blame placed on him. And when I called the meeting, he’d told me I didn’t have to do it.”

She screwed up her nose. “Why would he discourage you from clearing his name?”

My shoulders lifted briefly before sagging again. “He’s fiercely protective of his family,” I explained. “As cliché as that sounds. And I think taking the blame from me and trying to steer me away from repeating his own mistakes all these years is his way of showing that. He knows all too well that I can take care of myself physically, so he’s taken up the vigil on other fronts.”

A tear leaked down her cheek, touched anew by the obvious love my family was suffused with, and I had to assume, based on the brevity of the show of that tender emotion before it was replaced with frustration that the tears were predominantly hormone fuelled. I knew she hated being a slave to her emotions like that, so I distracted her by returning to my initial enquiry.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, gesturing around the room. “I thought we’d nailed down the layout.”

“I wanna paint the walls,” she sniffed, dragging the floaty fabric of her top up to dab at her eyes and revealing the taught swell of her stomach in the process. “I think a nice lemon yellow will be a much better environment for little Elizabeth to grow up in.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, crossing my arms over my chest. “Elizabeth?”

She smiled. “I was thinking it would be a good name for the baby.” When a moment passed and I refrained from commenting, she added, “Elizabeth Quinn Williams.”

Against my better judgement, I sucked in a sharp breath, unable to contain my reaction to hearing the name. I’d had no qualms with her keeping her ex-husband’s last name. It was her choice, and I honestly preferred to have that extra degree of separation between our lives. But I’d been thinking of the baby as Baby Santos for a few months now and hearing her suggest Williams as the last name grated.

“Williams?” I managed bite out.

Phoebe avoided my gaze as she turned toward the cot once more, starting back in on her dragging attempts. “Yeah,” she said. “I figured the baby should have my last name.” She gestured impatiently to the other side of the crib, a clear instruction for me to make myself useful, and for lack of something more satisfying to do with my hands I took brushed her hands away, took hold of the side and yanked it over to join the rest of the furniture in the middle of the room.

“Except it’s not your last name,” I pointed out, barely able to contain my anger. “It’s your ex-husband’s last name.”

Her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed themselves on top of her stomach. “So?” The challenge in her tone was deadly, warning me that I was entering a dangerous territory, but I was far from frightened. I’d stared death in face more times than I cared to count, been on missions I was never supposed to come home from, a self-righteous, hormonal woman was nothing.

“So!” I barked, “As much as you tried to pull a swift one and pass this baby off as his, it’s not. This is my baby, and I will not have another man’s name attached to it.”

“First of all, _this baby_ ,” she seethed, pointing at her stomach, “Is a _her_ , not an _it_. And second!” Her hand flattened out, waving up and down to draw my attention to her entire body, swollen and bloated and a far cry from the slender sex kitten I’d approached in that club almost eight months ago. “I’m the one carrying her. She is not _yours_! She’s _mine_! And she should have a last name that reflects that!”

I shook my head, suddenly understanding what I was up against here, and I couldn’t defend against it with the emotions gripping my gut. Crossing to the final piece of furniture left touching a wall, I dragged it into the mess in the centre and continued on to the door. “I can’t discuss this calmly right now,” I told her, facing the hall. “I’m going out for a bit. I’ll bring something home for dinner.” And with that I walked straight back out the way I’d come in not ten minutes earlier.

I drove straight to Haywood, trying to talk myself down the entire way. I knew that if I walked into the gym and picked a fight with the first guy I came across Ranger would have me put on desk duty for a month until I could prove that I could control myself again. He had been crystal clear on this fact after the last time when I’d blindsided Benny and given him a black eye before he’d had a chance to look up from his shoelace. My abuse on the equipment was tolerated provided I was smart about it. Injuring myself wasn’t any better than injuring a work mate. I’d still wind up behind a desk with a cramp in my ass. So while I knew I needed to work out my anger on the inanimate equipment in the gym, rather than risk losing it in the ring with someone, I still needed to regain some level of emotional numbness before I stepped through those doors.

The gates to the parking garage opened and I took a slow deep breath as I steered the SUV into the first open spot I came across. I would ordinarily mutter under my breath about the distance from the stairwell, but not today. Today, I used the walk across the garage to continue my deep breathing as I worked through the revelations falling into place in my mind. I took the stairs to the third floor, paused at the stairwell door, shook my head and continued all the way up to seven before making an about face and jogging all the way back down.

By the time I returned to the door on the third floor, I felt centred enough that when I entered that gym, I would be able to walk past any men in there and methodically work through an appropriate gambit of stretches before commencing an assault on the heavy bag.

And that’s exactly what I did.

I was breathing steadily, landing blows in familiar combinations at a natural rhythm and feeling proud of myself for being so mature about it all when Bobby stepped up behind the bag, holding it in place when I paused between combinations.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said when I hesitated before setting back in.

“Phoebe,” I grit out between punches.

He nodded. Probably, he’d already guessed the source of the energy I needed to expend. You didn’t have to be a genius to figure it out. “What’d she do this time?”

Dropping my hands, I stepped back from the bag. “She’s decided to paint the nursery yellow,” I said, rather than get right to the heart of the problem. “I came home to find her dragging the furniture into the middle of the room.”

Bobby’s expression remained mostly neutral, concealing his thoughts from me, but he did raise an eyebrow. “She shouldn’t be doing that in her condition,” he said, humouring me by following me down the path I’d led him on. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” I assured him, shaking my head.

“Don’t like the yellow colour?” he prompted, trying to get me to really talk to him.

“The colour is fine,” I said. “The problem isn’t with the paint, it’s what she revealed when she was telling me about the paint.”

Seeing that I wasn’t interested in returning to the bag, I stripped off strapping and seized a towel from the neat pile nearby, wiping the sweat from my face. Bobby stepped around the bag and followed me as I walked back across the gym floor, out the door and down the hall to the infirmary. Neither of us spoke again until we were safely ensconced his office, the door closed.

“What did she reveal?” he asked, hopping up onto the exam table while I collapsed into a chair. He was eyeing me closely, the way he always did when I was in a crisis, checking for warning signs that might indicate PTSD. I was pretty sure I was okay at the moment, the current situation was frustrating, and I could admit to a well of anger threatening to boil over, but the fact that I’d been able to calm myself before reaching the gym and had willingly walked away from the bag on my own were good signs.

I sighed and leaned my head back against the cabinet behind me. “She happened to drop in the name she’s been thinking of for the baby while she was explaining that she wanted to paint the nursery,” I told him. “Elizabeth.”

Bobby nodded. “It’s a nice name,” he offered cautiously. “There are all kinds of shortenings for it if you’re not happy with calling her Elizabeth. Lizzie, Liz, Ellie, Beth, Liza, Betty. Hell, you could go really off the wall and extract a Zab out of it.”

“I didn’t come in here for you to play your word games, Brown,” I deadpanned, lifting my head ever so slightly to glare at him. He held up his hands in surrender, a mockingly apologetic curve to his lips and I lowered my head back to the cabinet, staring at the ceiling as I revealed the whole problem. “She wants to name the baby Elizabeth Quin Williams.”

His understanding was immediate. “Ahhh.”

“She said the baby should have her last name,” I recanted. “I pointed out that it’s not _her_ last name at all, but her ex-husband’s last name. I pointed out that the baby was mine so she should have my last name, which was probably just about the worst thing I could say to a woman who has been reserving hope that her ex will suddenly have a change of heart and welcome her and the baby back into his life with open arms.”

Bobby let out a whistle. “She said that?”

I shook my head. “She didn’t have to, why else would she want to keep the name from her previous marriage and bestow it upon her child? If the child has the guy’s last name, surely that’d endear him to it more than if it has some other name, right?”

“What did you tell her?” Bobby asked, deciding not to confirm or deny my theory.

I didn’t need him to.

I felt the truth of it in my soul. I hadn’t been looking for parenthood, or even a long term relationship when I’d picked up Phoebe in that bar, but living in this new reality I found myself in had opened my eyes to a lot of truths I’d never considered. The reason Phoebe wanting to call our baby Williams had hit so hard was because it was excluding me from the situation. She was mine just as much as she was Phoebe’s and the thought of having someone other man’s name – a man that wanted nothing to do with her – staring back at me every time I filled out a form or labelled her things caused jagged spikes of jealousy to spear through my internal organs, impaling me in a dark place. 

I wanted to say that I would love her just as much if she was a Williams as if she was a Santos, but there was a niggling of doubt in the back of my mind. Imposing thoughts that insisted I would resent the fact that she had been conceived for another man, that she was named for another man, that she could, that her mother could, at any moment, take her from me if that other man somehow changed his stance on children. I’d never thought myself a family man, but now that I was here I couldn’t deny the instincts rising up in me to protect this little girl. She was part me and she deserved better than the false hope that a man who wasn’t her father could one day decide to love her based purely on the fact that she had his name. Not when I was already prepared to throw open the doors to my heart without even meeting her. I didn’t want something as small as a name driving a wedge between us.

“I told her I couldn’t discuss it calmly right now, that I was going out and would be home with dinner later,” I said flatly, even as my brain replayed the memory of her tiny limbs moving on the ultrasound screen as the room filled with her heartbeat.

Bobby was quiet for a moment. “What are you _going_ to tell her?”

“That I hate the name Quinn,” I said with a sneer, lifting my head to stare at him once more. “Elizabeth Quinn sounds _terrible_.”

He allowed me my moment, offering a light smirk. “Anything else?” he prompted.

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “That the baby’s last name is either going to be Santos or Harris, nor Williams.”

He nodded, shifting so that he was lounging on his side on the exam table, propping his head up on an elbow. “You think she’ll pick Santos over her own maiden name?”

I sent him a look. “They disowned her, if you’ll recall,” I reminded him. “I have a feeling that had just as much an influence on her keeping her ex’s name as the deluded thought that he might change his mind did.”


	34. Chapter 33

** Chapter 33 **

Present

It had been a while since I’d found myself needed a good intense workout to relieve my stress and work through the jumble of thoughts tumbling through my brain. These days I could get by with my regular exercise routine and the occasional hour or two of meaningless sex with my regular booty call, Tori, but that was mostly to relieve sexual tension only. My life had calmed significantly over the years, and I had the tumultuous relationship with Phoebe to thank for the control I’d gained and the more acceptable coping mechanisms I’d instigated. If it hadn’t been for her and her get-pregnant scheme, I’d probably still be sleeping my way through the population of New Jersey.

It was hard to think of what I would be like in those circumstances. I was a very different person back then, and while I recognised why I was the way I was, I could also see how the changes I’d made were a vital step in becoming the mature and honourable man my parents had envisioned while raising me. I’m not saying that my parents’ views were the be all and end all of what I should be striving for, but it was a good foundation to start on.

Pausing my attack on the heavy bag to swipe the sweat my brow before it could drip into my eyes (again), I acknowledged that ‘mature and honourable’ was part of the dilemma that had driven me to my workout this morning. What I wanted to do was at odds with what I thought was the right thing to do. I was haunted by my past actions and the consequences that’d rained down on my life. Not only that, Grace’s delightfully gorgeous, freckled face was constantly swimming into the forefront of my mind, tangling with memories of the way my skin had seemed to sizzle when he’d laid her hands on my arm to adjust the angle of my hold on Kenzie’s hair last night.

I was a lost cause. Drowning in a sea of desire. Hopelessly drifting on the debris leftover from where my resolve to keep my distance from her had shattered under the full force of her genuine smile. She was all I could think about.

All morning, as Kenzie and I had danced through our usual school morning routine, I couldn’t help but imagine how Grace would fit into it. Was she a morning person like we were, or would she require a little extra encouragement to get out of bed? Did she take forever in the bathroom getting ready? How did she like her eggs cooked? Would she make sure Kenzie had her homework? Who would take charge of the school drop off? The questions were infuriating as they strolled leisurely through my mind. I wanted the answers now, but I knew I was getting ahead of myself. I knew nothing about this woman other than her name and profession, and the fact that she was kind, caring and sexy as hell.

Which brought me back to the battle raging within as I beat on the punching bag. I wanted to know more about her. I wanted to ask her on a date and get to know her outside of a classroom setting. But I also didn’t want to make a move like that only to have it backfire and risk Kenzie getting hurt. I knew I could make a more in depth character assessment if I had even a basic background on her, but I didn’t think that was the way to take a step forward in this particular case.

The background search I’d performed on Phoebe had been necessary and eye opening. She’d set off alarm bells in my head and no amount of prodding had gotten her to reveal her true colours. But I couldn’t wipe the memory of the epic showdown it had caused when I eventually revealed all that I knew of her past. It had only served to widen the growing chasm between us. We’d eventually found a way to build a bridge and get over it, but the ghost of my transgressions lingered in our every interaction just as much as hers did from that moment on.

I didn’t want to risk that with Grace. She’d captured not just my interest, but my heart from the second I’d met her, and I’d be damned if I fucked up my chances of being with her before I even stepped out of the locker room and onto the field.

“Well, this brings back memories,” Bobby mentioned, approaching with a towel slung over his should and bottle of water in hand. I noted that he was drenched in sweat and had a fresh bruise blooming on his jaw. Probably just came from a sparring session in the other room. That would explain why he hadn’t approached me sooner if he’d been down here working out the whole time.

“Not now, Brown,” I gritted out, doubling down on the bag when he moved behind it to hold it steady for me. I ignored the furrow of his brow as he eyed me critically.

“If you’re stressed,” he started slowly. “Maybe you should call Tori and-“

“I’m not interested in calling Tori,” I cut him off, punctuating the statement with an extra hard jab.

Bobby had been curious before I’d said it, but as I paused to take a breath and shake out my hand, I saw a glimmer of interest lighting his eyes. It wasn’t often that I shut down the suggestion of sex so quickly. “So tell me what’s on your mind then,” he requested.

“Phobe,” I grunted, delivering a knee to the bag.

Between the force of my blow and the unexpectedness of my reply, Bobby stumbled back a step before catching himself and get his reaction under control. “Really?” he asked, surprise clear in his tone.

I didn’t reply, just focused on the rhythm of my attack for several long minutes, sorting through my thoughts once more and reordering them into something that resembled a decent explanation that I could make to both help Bobby understand my predicament and ease the ever persistent worry line that had popped up between his brows. Before I could finish getting my mental ducks in a row, though, he interrupted again.

“So…” he prompted.

A frustrated growl clawed it’s way up my throat as I stepped back, dragging my hands over my head. “I just… like,” I shrugged, dropping my hands to grip my shoulders and pull them down, like that would relieve the tension building there. “I don’t know, man. I need to know more about her, but isn’t doing a background check on her ruining the trust thing before we’ve even started?”

The confusion in Bobby’s expression let me know that my efforts to reorganise my thoughts had been in vain. Reviewing my words, I could absolutely understand why he wasn’t following along with me. I’d started with informing him that I was thinking about Phoebe, but when I opened my mouth to expound on my statement, I’d skipped forward to the issue of my conflicting feelings toward-

“Ohhh…” Bobby uttered, cutting off my thoughts once again as clarity lit his expression. His grin stretched from ear to ear, revealing an enviable row of straight, white teeth. “You mean Grace.”

“Yes,” I nodded, rolling my eyes. “I mean Grace. I think I like her-“

“No shit,” he muttered under his breath, but I ignored him, already on a rant-roll.

“And I might want to ask her out, but I don’t want to be stuck in another situation like with Phoebe. But worse, because I’ve got McKenzie to consider now. I don’t want to start something if it’s gong to cause harm – mental, physical or otherwise – to my daughter.”

Now it was Bobby’s turn to nod, stepping around to the front of the punching bag since it didn’t appear that I had any interest in resuming my workout now that he’d gotten me talking. “A,” he said, picking up his water again and twisting the cap off. “I think it’s cute that you’re capable of having a crush after so many years of seeing women as nothing more than a warm place to rest your cock.”

I returned his teasing grin with a narrow-eyed glare to let him how much I appreciated his humour at the present moment.

“B,” he went on, undeterred. “It’s good that you’re considering how this all would affect Kenzie.” He paused, assessing me while he guzzled half his water.

“And C?” I prompted when he didn’t say anything for a full minute. I knew he had more to say.

“Well, do you do a background on every woman you go out with?” he questioned.

I stared at him for a moment. “Of course not,” I said. “But this is different. I’m not just looking for a distraction. This is serious. I’m-“ I cut myself off this time, before I could blurt out that I was contemplating a life with this woman I barely knew. “She feels important,” I finished lamely.

Bobby nodded sagely, resting his hand on my shoulder as I dropped mine to my side. “I can tell,” he assured me. “Which is why I’ve already run a background check on her.”

I’d had a witting comeback cured up on the tip of my tongue, expecting that he’d continue to make light of my overwhelming feelings toward Grace, but the words died as his statement filtered into my brain, the meaning slowly seeping out, reaching for the far corners until I finally felt like I understood what he was saying.

He’d already run a background check on the woman who had become the object of my obsession. Had I really been that obvious? I know they’d all made joking comments after the recital, but in the last week, both Ranger and now Bobby had easily jumped to the conclusion that I was talking about Grace when I’d stated in on a more general topic. Maybe I hadn’t been as subtle in my mooning as I’d thought.

What if _Grace_ was able to make the same leap the guys had, and she already knew that I liked her?! Dear God, I felt like I was back in middle school worrying over what my crush thought of me.

“So… do you want me to tell you what I found, or…” Bobby asked, grinning from ear to ear as he watched my inner turmoil play out on my face. I had no delusions that I’d managed to keep my expression blank with all the thoughts flying through my head. I was an open book to him on the best of days.

“Yes!” I said desperately, willing to compromise on the moral dilemma since I hadn’t been the one to do the delving. It was a technicality, but one I could cling to as a defence. Almost as soon as I thought it, though, I realised it was a lie. I wasn’t willing to risk it. “No!” I corrected quickly. But that left me with the same issue of not knowing if pursuing a relationship with Grace was a safe option. I was back to square one. “I don’t know!” I groaned, flopping not a nearby bench.

Bobby chuckled, taking a more refined approach to sit down beside me. “How about this,” he offered. “I’ll print the information and stick it in an envelope for you. That way, when you finally make up your mind you can either read it or burn it.”

It sounded like the worst idea in the history of ideas, to be honest. Even if I did decide that not looking in the file was the best course of action, I couldn’t guarantee that my resolve would hold out against my curiosity. If the information was _right there_ and all I had to do was flip a page, how was I expected to resist? But if I didn’t accept the envelope, who’s to say I wouldn’t succumb and initiate the search myself anyway? Either way I looked at it, I was doomed to a battle with temptation. But what other option did I have?

Slowly, I nodded, accepting his offer. “Thanks, man,” I muttered, still lost in my head as I tried to puzzle through what I should do once I had the file. To read or not to read, that is the question. I almost laughed out loud as I realised what Kenzie would say if I asked her just that: a resounding yes. Reading was one of her top three pastimes. Best not to ask for her opinion on the matter, I decided.

The Shakespearean conundrum played in the back of my mind all day, interspersed with visions of Grace’s lovely face, and my imagined versions of what her fury would be like if she found out that I’d snooped in her past. It wasn’t until I wasn’t until I pulled into the driveway at home that evening, Kenzie in her booster in the back, the envelope with Grace’s name printed in Bobby’s even hand on the passenger seat, that I realised one big point I’d overlooked in all this: Bobby had already completed the background check before we spoke about it this morning. If he’d found anything suspicious or concerning in it, he would have told me straight up that pursuing her wasn’t a good idea. He was respectful of my decisions as grown ass adult, sure, but he wouldn’t stand idly by and watch me go through another round of hell with a woman. Not after Phoebe, and especially not with Kenzie in the line of fire.

I entered the house behind Kenzie with a new spring in my step and a beaming smile on my face. I felt light as I tossed the envelope onto the kitchen counter beside the fruit bowl. Bobby had given me all the information I needed without betraying a word of her secrets. After class next week, I was going to ask Grace on a date.

“What’s funny?” Kenzie asked, emptying out her homework folder, lunchbox and drink bottle on top of the file I’d just discarded.

“Nothing’s funny,” I replied. “Why?”

“’Cause you’re laughing,” she pointed out.

Was I? I took a calming breath, trying to lock it down at least a little. It was too early to reveal my plot to my daughter and get her hopes up. “I was just thinking of a joke Uncle Bobby told me today,” I lied. “Why did the chicken cross the road?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I dunno, Daddy, why?”

“To get to the other side!” I exclaimed.

It was lame, and she let me know by rolling her eyes at me as she carried her backpack out to the cubby where it lived in the mud room. “That’s not funny at all, Daddy,” she called over her shoulder.

“I know,” I replied loudly, shaking my head as I unzipped her lunchbox and took out the empty containers. “I told you nothing was funny!”


	35. Chapter 34

** Chapter 34 **

Present

For the next week I was suffused by an intoxicating mix of excitement, nerves, and anticipation - the likes of which I hadn’t known since the first time I shipped out with the army – as I mentally prepared to do something I hadn’t done since I was a teenager: ask out someone I really and truly liked. I was immensely happy that I’d found someone who’s soul seemed to call to mine, having spent my entirely life hearing stories of first my parents, aunt and uncle, and grandparents, and later my cousins, finding their one true love. It was something that had always seemed so far out of reach for me.

In my playboy days I’d told myself I was built differently, that I wasn’t meant for that kind of existence. I was perfectly happy with my lot in life. What’s not to love about having all the fun with none of the responsibility? It wasn’t until Phoebe and Kenzie crashed landed in my life, bringing with them all of those responsibilities I’d managed to evade for years, that I realised the depth of the lies I’d been telling myself.

The domestication of Lester Santos had been abrupt, forceful, and eye opening. One minute I was at the clubs, scouting for a new, fun companion for the night, the epitome of the legend behind the man that women whispered about behind their margarita glasses, and the next, I was married with a baby on the way. Co-habiting, co-decision-making, and co-parenting had come along in quick succession, arresting the clubs and one-night stands, and hurling them into the Delaware.

One thing I hadn’t been expecting to elbow its way onto the scene, though, was this unquenchable thirst for something _more_ that I simply could not satisfy with Phoebe. Now, for the first time in my life, I thought there was a chance that I’d found the person who could provide that something more, who could satisfy my appetite: Grace. And I hadn’t even asked her out yet.

I spent the week alternating between flying high on the wings of giddy hope, and wallowing in the deepest, darkest well of impending doom when I remembered that despite my intense feelings toward her, she wasn’t a sure thing, and I still had to take that leap of faith to ask her out.

My mood swings did not go unnoticed, neither at work, nor at home, and by the time Thursday rolled around I could feel the tension rippling in the air from the guys as they resisted the urge to call me to the mats just so they could knock some sense back into my addled brain. A few had attempted to get me to talk about what was up, but for my own sake, I’d kept it to myself, and the attempts had died off. The only people who had any clue that I was planning to make a move where Bobby and Ranger. And probably Steph by extension. For that matter, there was a high likelihood that Tank knew as well.

Who was I kidding? Knowing the Rangeman gossip mill, everyone probably already knew all about my feelings for Grace and the fact that I was gearing up to ask her out, and were just affording me the illusion of privacy by not bringing it up or razzing me for it. Having grown up in close proximity to the Manoso clan, I knew that even just the illusion of privacy was a sacred thing. Everyone may be all up in your business, but so long as no one was commenting on it, you were golden.

Except there was one little person who hadn’t gotten the memo not to mention anything. She sat on the bathroom counter, frowning at me while I fixed my shower-fresh hair in the foggy mirror. As much as I’d tried to keep a level head while she was around, knowing how much my own mood affected hers, the extremes had leaked out. She’d revelled in my moments of happiness, but her concern for my more poignant had only made me more apprehensive for the whole situation. What if Grace said no and it affected our level of comfort at hair class?

“Daddy,” Kenzie said slowly, a question lingering behind her tone. “What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t the first time she’d asked this week, and I gave her the same response I had every other time: I forced the furrow from my brow, brightened my smile and assured her, “Nothing’s wrong, Muffin-head.” It was like putting a bandaid on a severed limb, I knew, but this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing I could share with my daughter. At least not yet.

She was aware of the fact that I occasionally went out on dates, but she didn’t know who the women were, and the dates had never progressed to a point where introducing them to Kenzie seemed necessary. If Grace accepted my invitation tonight, though, and if everything went as well as I hoped it would, I’d let Kenzie in on the situation. Until then, there was nothing to tell.

Unconvinced by my repeated response to her concern, Kenzie let out a sigh and rested her chin in her hand as she continued to watch me painstakingly craft my signature hair spikes. _Dammit, Mama was right_ , I thought as I followed my daughter’s gaze and paid more attention to what I was doing. I was being far more deliberate than usual with the spikes, putting in the effort to ensure they were assembled in an aesthetically appealing formation. Mama had noted that I only did that when I had a date, but maybe what she meant was I only did it when I wanted to impress a woman.

Dropping my hands to the counter, I turned to face Kenzie, wondering if she’d picked up on the routine the same way her Abuela had. “I’m nervous,” I told her honestly, deciding she deserved more than my nonchalant brush off. Especially since I felt anything but nonchalant about the whole situation. “Tonight’s a big night.”

Her brow wrinkled a little deeper for a second before clearing into a brilliant smile. “Don’t be nervous, Daddy,” she encouraged, sitting up a little straighter. “Braids are hard, but Miss Grace is a good teacher, she can help you if you get stuck. You just have to ask.”

A rush of warmth flooded my chest. She thought I was nervous about hair class and the fact that we’d be learning how to do braids tonight, I realised. “What if she doesn’t say yes, though?” I found myself asking, pushing back the hair that had fallen into my daughter’s face and holding her gaze solemnly. She may not know the true reason for my nerves, but her complete confidence in my abilities was encouraging, and I seized on the opportunity to discuss the situation with her, even under the guise of something else.

“She will,” Kenzie assured me, hopping down from the counter and dragging me out of the bathroom by the hand. “Miss Grace always says yes to you, Daddy.”

I smiled more genuinely this time as I followed her through the house. She was right. Grace had never said no when I asked for help. Hopefully the same would be true for a different kind of question. “Thanks Muffin-head,” I said, pulling her into a hug as we reached the kitchen. “You always know just what to say. How did you get to be so wise?”

Kenzie hugged me back tightly, her face half buried in my stomach when she replied, “I learned from Auntie Steph.”

A gasp stole my breath away as I pulled back to eye her suspiciously. “How much is Auntie Steph paying you to say things like that?” I demanded with mock indignation. Honestly, I could agree one hundred percent with the fact that Steph was wise on this front. She’d saved my ass with Phoebe more times than I could count. Between Steph, Ella and my mother Kenzie was set up with some amazing role models to guide her through to womanhood.

She just smiled and ducked out of my arms, skipping to the fridge. She paused with the door open, peering around it to look at me. “When we have donut dates, we don’t have one each,” she said cryptically before ducking back out of sight. When she backed out with the container of leftovers from last night’s dinner, she avoided looking in my direction as she slid it onto the bench and moved to the cupboard to pull out plates.

“How many donuts do you have?” I asked, stalking towards her.

Her eyes were sparkling when she finally met my gaze. “Three.”

“THREE?!” I exclaimed, throwing my arms wide and contorting my face comically as she giggled gleefully. “You eat _three donuts??_ ”

Kenzie shook her head. “I don’t _eat_ _three_ , Daddy,” she placated, patting my on the stomach. “We get three donuts and share them. One for me, one for Auntie Steph and one to share.”

“Devious,” I accused. “You and Auntie Steph, both.” But I couldn’t be mad at either of them. Their bond was important, and on some level, I think I’d always assumed that Steph would stretch the limits I’d set. It was good to know that she was stretching them in moderation, though, rather than just stuffing my kid full of sugar and handing her back to me. Half a donut more was much better than sharing a dozen donuts.

My phone chimed with a calendar reminder, interrupting the moment and spurring me into action once more. “Time to eat,” I said, spooning leftovers onto the plates and inserting them into the microwave. “We don’t want to be late for hair class on braiding night.”

*o*

Braiding was just as difficult as it had always been every time one of the women in my life had tried to teach me. The only difference was, with Grace teaching me, I was hanging on her every word, so it was likely that I’d taken in much more of her instructions than I had with the others. By the end of the evening I had managed a fairly passable plait and was working on what Grace called ‘accent braids’: smaller plaits that could be used to ‘jazz up’ other hairstyles we’d already learned.

“Good work tonight, everyone,” Grace said from the front of the room, just as I was securing my latest plait with the teeny tiny elastics we’d been provided for such a purpose. “With a little hard work and dedication you’ll be ready to tackle French braids in no time.”

The girls all squealed in delight, and I noted the apprehensive grimaces on the faces of the other dads, but I couldn’t find the wherewithal to join them in their sentiments. Class was wrapping up, and the moment I’d been waiting for all week was just minutes away. I felt sick with a new surge of nerves as we were instructed to start packing up.

This was it.

I made sure our station was tidy and then eyed the two ladies who taught the class. Grace was methodically removing the many small plaits that had been braided into the hair of the two mannequin heads throughout the evening while Lydia sorted the equipment that had been returned to her. The other dads and daughters were collecting their things and calling goodbyes like usual, so I took a deep breath and set the ball to rolling, instructing Kenzie to go and help Miss Lydia while I had a word with Miss Grace.

She looked up and beamed as I approached and the flame I held inside my chest for her flared brighter. “My star pupil,” she greeted. “You grossly understated your skills when we first met.”

I shrugged. “Everything I do is out of necessity and to keep Kenzie happy,” I said, leaning my hip against the bench beside her.

“She’s extremely lucky to have such a dedicated dad,” Grace assured me. Her fingers slowed as I held her gaze for a moment, but then she ducked her head to her work and redoubled her efforts. “All the girls are,” she added hastily. And then she abruptly changed the topic. “Was there something I could help you with?”

“Yes, actually,” I replied. Somehow, my voice remained steady despite the way my heart was beating out of my chest. I acknowledged that this was my last chance to back out. I could just as easily request an appointment to get Kenzie’s hair cut as I could ask this amazing woman on a date. It would be the safer option. I didn’t risk heartbreak if I never risked dating her in the first place. But I knew that if I backed out now I’d never find the courage to move forward, and attending class every week would be agonising. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me for dinner some time.”

An adorable blush coloured her cheeks when her eyes snapped up to meet mine again. “Like, on a date?” she clarified.

This conversation was a far cry from my usual method of picking up women. Usually, my signature pick-up lines made it clear that I was flirting, and when I eventually sealed the deal with an offer of a date, there was no question of my intentions. Having a woman need to clarify the situation I was proposing was a new and unique experience. And for some reason, it seemed fitting. This whole thing was brand new to me, so it made sense that I stumble in my execution.

“If you’re willing,” I confirmed. “If not, if could just be a dinner to thank you for everything you’re doing here.”

Grace peered at me for a few seconds. “Do you thank all Kenzie’s teachers with dinner dates?” she asked, a hint of teasing in her tone.

I shook my head, smiling lightly. “No, they get home baked goods from my company’s caretaker,” I assured her. “And technically, you’re my teacher, not Kenzie’s.”

“Touché,” she responded, leaning her elbows on the counter. “So where do we stand ethically on the position of teacher-student relationships?” she asked.

The flame in my chest was stuttering, worry shaking the confidence Kenzie had bolstered before we’d left home. “Um, well, we’re both consenting adults, aren’t we? Is there really a moral question?”

The air around her sparkled as she let out a laugh. “I’m kidding,” she assured me, her hand coming to rest on my forearm and igniting a fire that consumed my entire body. “I’d love have dinner with you.”

“Like a date?” I asked. I said it in an imitation of her question from when I first proposed the dinner, but I couldn’t ignore the way my throat constricted as I waited for her reply. Everything was riding on this one moment.

She smirked. “Like a date,” she confirmed seriously.


	36. Chapter 35

** Chapter 35 **

Present

“Do you feel better now, Daddy?” Kenzie asked when we reached the car after class. She was peering at me with that assessing expression she had, all frowns and curiosity and I couldn’t help but grin back at her. I hadn’t been this excited since the first time I took Kenzie to Disney World. It was like everything was electric in a world that had previously been lit by candles.

“Much,” I said, picking her up and spinning her around to expend some of my excess elated energy. “I’m feeling fabulous!”

“Fabulous,” she mimicked when I set her on her feet once more. She struck a pose to go along with it, her hip jutted out, head tilted back, hands on hips, a smirk of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. Oh, ho I was in for an experience when _she_ got to dating age if she was this comfortable throwing around attitude now… I opened the back door for her to climb into her booster seat and she practically sashayed over. “I’m feeling fabulous, too,” she informed me once she was in and I was buckling her seatbelt.

I turned my head to peer at her. “And why’s that?” I asked.

Her hand came up to stroke the last braid I’d done before the end of class. I had gathered a small section from her natural part line to just above her ear and directed the braid back toward her ponytail so it could be combined in, and on top of the fact that I now knew about natural part lines and how to direct hair so that it didn’t have the bobbly bits, I was quite proud of how the braid had turned out. The three strands were about the same size, and the ‘stitches’ of the braid were all tight, and there wasn’t anything trying to escape. It was absolutely my best work yet, and the fact that I’d managed it with shaking hands had me all the more impressed with my own achievements.

“Because you made my hair pretty,” Kenzie informed me.

I had to take a deep breath to steady myself. We’d been fighting over her hair for months. Nothing I did ever seemed to be good enough to make her genuinely happy with how her hair looked. But suddenly: braids. My heart – already quite full from the experience of successfully asking Grace out on a date – seemed to swell even more with all the love I have for this little girl of mine. Any doubts I tended to carry around about being a failure of a father were firmly squashed back into the box in the dark basement of my mind.

The seatbelt finally clicked into place and started to back out of the space, pausing to press a kiss to her cheek. “I’m glad you like it, Muffin-head,’ I said as I straightened outside the car once more.

I was just about to close the door on howe, when she spoke again, a serious look on her face despite the sparkle in her eye. It was an expression too mature for her young face, speaking of the complexity of emotions coursing through her. “And I like it when you’re happy,” she said.

Several more deep, pride-filled breaths were sucked in on my way around the car to the driver side door, even as a grin pulled my mouth wide. I’d obviously done something right to deserve such a caring child, but she was making it hard for me not to just blurt out everything that had my heart overflowing so much that the pleasure had leached onto my face and refused to be wiped off no matter how sternly I instructed myself to calm down.

“How do you feel about a movie night with Uncle Tank and his cats this weekend?” I asked as I slid behind the wheel and buckled myself in. She didn’t say anything as I turned the engine over and put the car in reverse, and when I checked over my shoulder I noted the multitude of thoughts racing each other across her face as she tried to make a decision. “A princess movie night,” I added, and the deal was done.

Princess movies were a Tank and Kenzie thing. Always had been. I couldn’t even begin to understand why, but she just preferred to watch princess movies with Tank. She wasn’t opposed to watching them with me, but she didn’t get excited about the prospect like she did with Tank. The worst thing was, neither of them would tell me if there was anything they did to make the princess movie thing they had going on special. It simply was.

I couldn’t complain, though, because it made them both happy, and sometimes I thought Tank could use a little more joy in his life. He was always the serious one. Straight faced, and severe of temperament. His propensity for hiding his emotions put even Ranger to shame. There were few things in life that could pull a smile from the man, but his cats and my daughter were at the top of the list.

And he was always available for babysitting duties on a Saturday night.

Kenzie cheered her agreement with the plan as I exited the carpark and dialled up Tank’s cell on the Bluetooth system to confirm he was free. There was a moment, while the phone was ringing and Kenzie was dancing in the back seat, that I realised I’d done things ass about. It was always best to confirm with the babysitter before getting the child’s hopes up. But I’d been too excited myself. Things had been set in motion and I was still reeling from it all, unable to contain myself.

“Yo,” Tank answered after a few rings.

“I need a babysitter this weekend,” I said by way of greeting once Kenzie was done calling hello to him.

“When?” came Tank’s measured reply.

That didn’t bode well. If he was asking when, it meant he wasn’t free all weekend, which meant I may have royally screwed things up by offering Kenzie a princess movie night before checking with him. Those doubts started creeping back out of the box.

“Saturday night?” I said, unable to keep the questioning tone from my voice as I gave myself a mental head slap and a lecture to get my head back in the game. I’d created specific processes for these things with the express purpose of avoiding Kenzie’s disappointment. I was well aware that disappointment was a part of life, and that she needed to learn how to deal with it in a healthy way, but that didn’t mean I wanted to create those situations for her knowing it was unnecessary.

“I have my Mom’s birthday dinner Saturday night,” Tank said flatly.

Kenzie sighed heavily. “So no princess movie night?” she checked quietly. There was that disappointment I could have avoided if I’d thought this through a little more before opening my fat mouth.

“Sorry Kenz,” I said. “We’ll have to see if Uncle bobby is free instead.

The big man must have also heard the sadness in her tone, because there was determination in his voice when he spoke again, his booming bass filling the car. “Now hold on a second,” he said, infusing every word with an upbeat note that sent hope rippling through the air. “Just because I’m not free to babysit Saturday night doesn’t mean we can’t watch princess movies. If you don’t have other plans, I can pick the Nugget up after story time at the library and we can have a princess movie afternoon instead, then I can drop Kenz at Bobby’s on my way to Mom’s dinner.

“Is Bobby free?” I checked before anyone could get too attached to the plan. Including myself. No point in making the same mistake twice in the space of five minutes.

Tank let out a thunderous laugh. “Oh, he’s free all right,” he said after a moment. “Just this afternoon he was telling me about his riveting plans to teach himself to knit this weekend since Alice is in Boston on business. I’m sure hanging with Kenzie would be a much better use of his time.”

I accepted Tank’s proposed plan and vowed to confirm times and details with him in the morning once I’d had a chance to check the library program timetable and verify Bobby’s status for the weekend. The phone call to Bobby followed with a far more predictable outcome than Tank’s had yielded, Bobby offering not only to take Kenzie for the evening, but to keep her overnight. Kenzie was over the moon with excitement and jabbered the whole way home about how great it was that she’d get to have princess movies with Tank as well as hang out with her favourite uncle for the evening. By the time we were out of the car again she was making a verbal list of things she would need to take for her sleepover.

I could identify with her excitement, because I was making a mental list of all the things I needed to do to ensure my date with Grace went off without a hitch.

“And I need to I take my pjs!!” Kenzie told me as she disappeared through her doorway to get dressed into said pyjamas. “And my toothbrush!” she yelled a minute later emerging in the pink boxers and matching unicorn t-shirt she’d been wearing to bed.

“Speaking of toothbrushes…” I prompted, gesturing to the bathroom.

“Teeeeeeeeth,” she murmured, trudging ahead of me and climbing up onto the counter like she always did. She plucked our toothbrushes from the cup beside her and held them out for me to squeeze toothpaste onto. “Daddy can my bedtime story be about when I was born tonight?” she asked, waiting until I’d thrust my brush into my mouth before voicing her question.

I thought briefly about where we were up to on the Phoebe story and realised that it wouldn’t be a leap to move forward to that point. We’d covered pretty much everything of significance that had happened before McKenzie made her grand entrance into the world. And I’d had time to think about how to skirt around the details of human reproduction when explaining the whole situation. Nodding my agreement, I used my free hand to move the toothbrush in her grips toward her mouth, forcing her to open up to avoid having toothpaste smeared over her face. I was pretty sure she was grinning around the handle as she started scrubbing her pearly whites. We’d reached a pivotal point in the story that she’d been anticipating probably since the very first night she’d requested to know about her mother.


	37. Chapter 36

** Chapter 36 **

Past

Bobby and I were finishing up a job in Newark as a favour to a friend of the Manoso family. It was after five already, hot, and I was looking forward to the enchiladas my mother had promised when I’d called earlier to ask if we could stop in for dinner before driving back to Trenton. I could almost taste them on my tongue as I followed bobby down the path and out the front gate to the SUV.

“So, what did you end up decided on?” Bobby asked as I slid in behind the wheel.

Cutting my eyes to him as I buckled in, I tried to rewind through the conversation we’d been having for the last five minutes, discarding my persistent visions of Mama’s dining table laden with my favourites, and tried to figure out what it was my partner was referring to. Nothing we’d spoken about made sense with his current question though, so I gave up and admitted how lost I was.

“Decided on for what?” I asked. I made no move to turn the car on or begin navigating the short trip to my parent’s house, wanting to be sure of the topic at hand before I diverted my attention.

“The baby,” he said, like it was obvious, even though we hadn’t touched on the subject of Phoebe or the baby all shift, nor did his explanation illuminate me to what exactly he was referring to. There were a lot of decisions about the baby that were in constant discussion. Everything from co-sleeping, breast vs formula, and the environmental impact of disposable diapers, to kindergarten, extra-curriculars, and the finer points of language development. He’d need to be a little more specific.

I shrugged and finally hit the button to start the engine. “What about the baby?”

It wasn’t like Bobby to be needlessly cryptic, so I had to assume whatever he was asking me about had been on his mind while I assured Mrs Garcia that I would do my best to attend the pot luck she’d organised for the following week. Probably, he’d been having a conversation about it in his head and was now attempting to continue it out loud with me.

“Well, you had that name dilemma a couple weeks ago, but you never said if you came to an agreement on what to name the baby.” He was very careful, I noticed, not to mention Phoebe’s name. He knew how much I was looking forward to a couple of extra hours away from her and dared not to speak her name, lest he summon her up like the demon she was.

“Ah,” I uttered, pulling away from the curb at last. “The name.”

“Yes,” Bobby agreed, putting on his best Kronk-from-the-Emperor’s-New-Groove voice. “The name. The name for the baby. The name chosen especially to give to the baby. The baby’s name.”

I let out a sigh even as I shook my head at his antics. “She’s agreed to give her my last name,” I told him.

“But…”

He knew me too well. The name debate was far from settled. It had taken days for Phoebe to come around and consider my view on naming the baby for her ex, but that had just been the tip of the iceberg. Santos was decided fairly quickly and easily once she’d submitted to my ultimatum, because her parents were still refusing to have anything to do with Phoebe or the baby. But even though, she kept thinking up new ways to honour the man she’d originally wanted to have this child with. She was really quite creative with her efforts, weaving in the man’s name, occupation and favourite fictional characters and things into her name suggestions. I wouldn’t have noticed if it weren’t for the fact that his background report was burned permanently into my brain alongside hers.

Things had finally come to a head just last night when I’d put my foot down and told her that while I understood her desire to honour him, I simply would not tolerate it. I’d felt truly insane as I’d said it, wondering why a name meant so much to me when up until a few months ago I hadn’t even been contemplating settling down with a woman, much less bringing a child into the world. But the fact still remained that this was _my_ daughter, and regardless of how possessive and caveman-like it sounded, I wanted there to be no connection between my sweet, innocent girl and the man who’d rejected her. It wasn’t until then that I really cognitively realised that that was what he’d done. Phoebe had told him she was pregnant and he’d cast them both aside. I may not have been happy with the new situation I’d found myself in when Phoebe had sought me out, but at least I hadn’t turned my back on the baby. I couldn’t.

I hadn’t been expecting Phoebe’s retaliation to my show of force, though. She’d tossed the notebook where she’d recording potential names onto the coffee table, crossed her arms on top of her bulging belly, looked me dead in the eye with one of her patented steely glares, and said, “Well, I don’t see you throwing out any ideas,”

I said nothing, knowing instinctively that she wasn’t done.

“I have suggested dozens of names,” she pointed out. “And you’ve found fault with every single one, but you haven’t given me even a single name of your own.”

And she was right. I hadn’t contributed any suggestions to the name debate. At least not out loud. I’d tested hundreds of names inside my head, and spent more time than I cared to admit browsing baby name sites online. But I hadn’t breathed a word of my ideas to anyone, least of all the mother of the child.

The truth was, the closer we got to Phoebe’s due date, the more the thought of being responsible for the wellbeing of a tiny human scared the shit out of me. I didn’t feel remotely qualified for the job. Saving third world countries from militia forces? Easy! No sweat! Making sure an infant had all their needs met and stayed alive? How the fuck do I do that? And I knew first hand the kind of damage that could be inflicted on a person because of their name, so I didn’t want one of my first acts as her father to be bestowing the same kind of trauma kindling on my daughter.

Not only that, but there was a tiny voice in the back of my mind that told me, despite the possessive compulsions and scientific proof that this baby was mine, that I had no _right_ in naming her. It just didn’t seem like a privilege I’d earned.

With Phoebe’s glare continuing to burn holes in my flesh, I’d eventually let out a long, shaky breath and allowed myself to be vulnerable in front of her for the first time. I laid out all my fears and doubts for her to cast her judgement upon. At the end of it, though, she didn’t tell me I was being selfish, or ridiculous, or an idiot, or any of the other adjectives I’d been expecting to leave her mouth. Instead, when I looked up from my twisting fingers, I found her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and she uttered a weak, “I’m sorry.”

I nodded silently, having used up all my words to make sure she understood where I was mentally, and stood from the couch. Crossing the room, I paused at the door, my back to her, and quietly promised, “I’ll try to come up with some names to add to the book,” before retreating to my bedroom.

Now, I glanced at Bobby, wondering if the still-raw feeling inside my chest from baring my soul to Phoebe last night could stand anther pass through the ringer. Probably not.

“We haven’t come to an agreement on given names yet,” I said instead.

“Well, you better hurry up,” Bobby said, dispelling some of the tension with his easy going laugh. “Your kid-free days are numbered. Phoebe could theoretically go into labour any day now.”

And, as if conjuring her by the mere act of speaking her name aloud, my cell rang, connecting to the car’s Bluetooth so I could answer with a touch of the screen on the dashboard.

“What’s up, Phoebe?” I greeted in a neutrally pleasant tone.

“I was just calling to check when you’d be home,” Phoebe’s voice filled the space, sounding a little out of breath.

I sensed Bobby straighten a little beside me, but didn’t think much of it as I turned onto my parent’s street. “Ended up in Newark on a job,” I explained. “We just finished up and are heading over to Mama’s to mooch some food before heading home. I don’t expect I’ll be home until after eight. Why?”

“Because I’m pretty sure I’m having contractions,” she said evenly.

“You’re in labour!?” I exclaimed, my brain disconnecting from my mouth as it spun out of control. Phoebe was in labour. That meant the baby was coming. My official induction into the halls of fatherhood was imminent. And – I looked around wildly as I pulled to a stop outside my parent’s house on autopilot – I was an hour out of town.

“We’ll come straight home,” I stated definitively over the top of the questions Bobby was asking to ascertain Phoebe’s condition. “Bobby, you drive. I’ll duck inside and tell Mama we can’t stay after all. We should be back in Trenton in about an hour, Phoebe, call an ambulance and we’ll meet you at the hospital.”

The sound of both Bobby and Phoebe’s laughter froze me to my seat even as I pushed the car door open to get out. “What’s so funny?” I demanded, thinking this better hadn’t be some prank they’d set up. I was pretty sure Bobby would never lower himself to be in cahoots with Phoebe, but I didn’t like the way they were both laughing.

“She’s in _early_ labour, man,” Bobby explained. “There’s likely hours to go before she needs a hospital, but which time I’ll well and truly have your neurotic ass home.”

I blinked. “Hours?”

“The contractions are still a little irregular,” Phoebe assured me. “I just thought you’d prefer to know sooner rather than later.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Anyway, since I have hours, I’m just going to be trying to finish up this assignment so I can submit it. Hopefully it’ll be a decent enough distraction to keep my mind off the pain.”

Nodding my approval of the plan, I told her I’d be home as soon as possible, we hung up, and I raced inside to tell Mama and Dad that I couldn’t stay. When they heard the reason why, Dad insisted I wait while he threw together a couple of club sandwiches we could eat on the road to sustain us through the long night he predicted ahead of us. I accepted the sandwiches, and the drinks and chips Mama tucked into my grasp, thank them both with a one-armed hug, and sprinted back out to the SUV. I’d barely had a chance to drag the door closed before Bobby had us tearing out of the neighbourhood.

*o*

We’d been on the road for forty minutes, and had just passed the latest exit on the highway when traffic ground to a halt. I looked to Bobby, but he just shook his head. “I don’t know man,” he said apologetically. “I checked the traffic while you were in your mom’s house and it was a clear run all the way.”

I nodded my understanding. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t control the traffic. I couldn’t blame him if this jam caused me to miss the birth of my daughter. Besides, he and Phoebe had both said we had hours before we had any need to worry. Surely this traffic couldn’t last that long.

Taking a deep breath, I slid my phone out of my pocket, dialling the Rangeman control room to see if they could tell me what was up.

“Three car pile up,” Cal explained after a few minutes of conversation while he searched, timing his info-drop with the wail of sirens tearing up the shoulder of the road. It’s only just happened,” he added. “All lanes blocked. You could be there a while.”

“Thanks,” I said, and hung up.

Bobby was watching me closely, since he didn’t have any reason to keep his eye on the road. Probably, my reaction to the news that Phoebe was in labour was not what he’d expected of a man who held very little regard for his wife. To tell the truth, I was a little surprised myself, but when I examined the tension gripping my chest, I found that it had less to do with concern for Phoebe herself, and more to do with the need to be there for my daughter, to make sure she knew that I would always be there for her, to support her and – dare I say – love her from her very first breath.

Although there was also a small part of my mind that acknowledged that I needed to be there to ensure Phoebe stayed true to her word and didn’t name our child after her ex-husband.

“I’m fine,” I said firmly before he had a chance to ask.

“You will be,” he countered. “We’ll get you there.”

I nodded again, searching for that calm inside me, the one I’d taught myself to summon up in a crisis so I could keep a level head. It kept slipping through my fingers as more emergency vehicles sailed past.

“I’m gonna call Phoebe and let her know we’ll be a little longer than planned,” I said, deliberately keeping my language optimistic as I spoke my thoughts.

“Good idea.”

My phone still clutched in hand, I scrolled down to Phoebe’s number and hit the green ‘call’ button, waiting anxiously while it rang. And rang… and rang… Until it finally went to voice mail. I didn’t bother leaving a message, hanging up instead and immediately re-dialling. This time she picked up on the fourth ring, sounding just as breathless as she had earlier.

“Yeah?” she said.

“How are you travelling?” I asked, a frown pulling my eyebrows down as I tried to interpret her tone.

“Oh, I’ve been better,” she said airily.

“The contractions…?” My question was vague since I really wasn’t sure what I was trying to ask, let alone how to ask it. I’d read a couple of _‘what to expect’_ type books that Bobby had recommended, but I was by no means an expert on this kind of situation.

“Definitely in labour,” she confirmed. “Contractions are fifteen minutes apart.”

“Okay,” I nodded. That was okay. Longer time between contractions meant longer time before birth. I still had time to get to her. “Are you okay?” I asked stupidly and received identical derisive snorts from my wife and my partner. It was the second time they’d been in unison today and it was not helping my nerves.

“Oh yeah,” she said sarcastically. “Having all my muscles seize my uterus in a vice like grip and press a bowling ball down on my cervix like a battering ram is de-fucking-lightful.”

I bit back the retort that leapt to the tip of my tongue. Inciting an argument now was not a smart move. If I was worried, it was probably a drop in the ocean compared to what Phoebe was going through.

“I meant, are you handling it all okay,” I explained with a patience I really didn’t feel. Such was always the way with Phoebe. “you haven’t had any complications?”

“The only complication so far,” she started, causing my heart to wedge itself in my throat. “Is that every time I get on a roll with my assignment, I get another contraction.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, accompanying it with a eyeroll at her insistence of completing school work now of all times. “Surely you should be focusing on something a little more –“

“This assignment is important, Lester,” she snapped. “It’s due next week, but I’m pretty sure once this baby is out, I’m not going to have the time or brain capacity to finish it.”

“I’m pretty sure they’d cut you some slack, given that you’re having a baby,” I pointed out, trying to keep my tone understanding as the usual frustration that came from prolonged conversation with Phoebe rose up inside me.

“Well, they won’t need to,” she stated imperiously. “I’m going to finish it before I have this baby.”

I thought that was a bit ambitious, knowing what I knew about how labour progressed, and how hard it could be to concentrate on even the simplest of tasks, but I refrained from arguing further. Instead, I switched tact to jump to the reason for my call. “Traffic is horrendous,” I told her, forgoing preamble. “There’s a three-car pile-up not far ahead of us blocking all lanes. No telling how long we’ll be stuck at this point, but I’m doing my best to find a work-around. If anything changes, call the ambulance, and get to the hospital. Keep me posted and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

My tone was flat by the time I’d finished speaking, reverting to the emotionless void that accompanied my professional blank face. I stayed on the line long enough to hear her assurance that she’d keep me informed, and go to the hospital if and when she needed to, and hung up, dropping the phone into the cup holder in the centre console.

“As charming as ever, I assume,” Bobby teased, nudging me with his elbow.

“You know it,” I agreed, tipping my head back against the seat and closing my eyes briefly. I’m pretty sure I could feel a headache coming on.


End file.
